


Reconciliation

by Not_You



Category: The Avengers (2012), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles You Will Be Drunk, Coulson Lives, F/M, Feels, Fix-It, Genosha, Happily ever after godammit, I'm Not Ashamed, Language of Flowers, Love Letters, M/M, Magneto is finally getting therapy, Meddling, Modern AU, Natasha is a closet romantic, Original Character(s), Politics, Post-Divorce, Thor is a fanboy, also this is crack in case the premise didn't tip you off, assassination attempt, but weirdly feelsy crack, discussion of FGM, mention of past incest, no actual loki, real world trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:49:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 33,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a firstkink prompt for Thor shipping Erik/Charles to the point that SHIELD gives the Avengers the mission of getting them back together.  Since Charles is Tony's cousin, he feels a more personal stake in the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mission Accepted

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify: This is XMFC Charles and Erik, with their story moved up in time. Erik's parents were murdered and he was tortured by evil mercenary fucks, and he and Charles didn't get mixed up in the Cuban Missile Crisis, but shit got real. That was about four years pre-Avengers, bringing you up to speed, Constant Reader.

"Fuck no." Tony buried his face in his hands. "Fuck. No. Nonononononono. I am not doing this, and you cannot make me. You are not the boss of me. I can't hear you, I'll hold my breath 'til I turn purple, whatever makes this go. Away."

Bruce sighed and sat down beside him, putting an arm around him and rubbing his back. "Honey, you're going to have to face facts. Cousin Charles has a love life and the Norse god downstairs cares about it so much that he's a danger to himself and others."

"Christ. Pour me a drink?" He had taken to asking after a long and tearful conversation about Bruce's childhood and a few possible triggers for the Hulk. Not that Tony didn't kind of miss the big guy, but he wasn't about to act like Bruce's fucking piece of shit lucky-for-him-he's-already-dead father to catch a glimpse of him.

"Sure."

Sipping some damn fine whiskey and leaning on Bruce and listening to a little lecture on gamma rays, cell division, and the difference between big green things and cancer was enough to mellow him out a bit, but he still tensed when Steve showed up. They had worked out the worst of their differences, but he could tell it was going to be more of the same crap.

"I uh, I realize that you don't really want to think about Charles Xavier in this light, but we have to do this."

"Why?"

"Because Fury sent me here for team building and chronological adjustment. I am rooming next to Thor." The corner of his eye twitched, an angry blush suffusing his face.

"And?" He took a mournful little sip, knowing he'd need the fortification of tossing it back more in another moment or two.

"And I have to..." He took a deep breath, going bright red. "And I have to listen to him jack off and moan his brother's name all night."

"Oh. Oh wow. I feel almost as bad for you as I do for me. Shit."

"And besides, it is tragic. Not just for them, for the world!" He stood there, too earnest to be real, and Tony sighed. Bruce's hand just lightly touched the edge of the arc reactor, calming him a little.

"Well, what's your plan?"

Steve blushed worse than ever, still not used to being gay being so much less of a problem. "I, uh..." He shuffled a bit, looked down at the carpet, and then up at Tony. "I never really got a chance to figure out what works and what doesn't."

Tony winced. "Good point. Bruce?"

"I've never been very skilled. I tend to just apologize for everything and offer a gift, usually the wrong one."

"Yeah, but that's girls."

"And I never paralyzed my girlfriend."

"He has gotten better, though..." Tony tipped away from Bruce to on the arm of the couch, feet in Bruce's lap. "But it's still a hell of a thing."


	2. Coulson Lives

Really, everyone credited Nick Fury with Coulson's recovery. He had been a miserable little heap of tubes and it hadn't seemed like a lie when Fury had told them he was dead. He had been a vegetable, unresponsive to all stimulus, and only still alive because someone had made a mistake somewhere on his DNR and they couldn't just unplug the poor shattered bastard. Moved by a rare and disturbingly sentimental impulse, Fury had taken Coulson his cards. After all, he didn't need them for anything, the fake blood long past dry and still fresh arterial red. He had set them down as near Coulson as he could, and stood there with his hands in his pockets, quietly telling him about his gambit with the cards and how well it had worked.

"My locker," Coulson had whispered in a dead, dry voice. Fury had stared for a minute, and then gotten what felt like every nurse on the goddamn floor involved. The word 'miracle' had gotten some play for a while there as Coulson crawled his way out of the pit. Screaming at Fury for the condition of his cards was some of Coulson's first real exercise. Tony sprung to get them restored, which was nice of him, and of course Steve signed the damn things, every single one. With bonus salutations and trivia, such as 'get well soon' and 'this is the shoot I fainted at, it must've been 110 under those lights.'

Willpower and fanboyism had gotten Coulson up from his deathbed and into physical therapy, and he was just starting to walk again when he met Charles Xavier for the first time. This poised and dignified mutant leader was not as recognizable as he might have been, merrily skipping along in a shapeless cardigan utterly unsuited to his age and gravity. "As I said before, I would tell you if I felt any pain," he said, and it was the soft tones and Oxford accent that clicked him into place. Coulson had just leaned on his walker and gawked for a moment, embarrassed beyond measure when Xavier had turned and beamed at him.

"There you are!" He came over at a good clip for a man that was never going to walk again four years ago, and had told Coulson about promising Stark to check up on him since he would be in the area. He had also mentioned that the mental wall of pornography Coulson had spastically thrown up didn't bother him at all, that it was something most people did out of sheer nerves. Over far too many walks up and down the room, Coulson had learned that Charles Francis Xavier was, in no particular order, the real thing, a bit of a lech, dedicated to his dream, a wonderful teacher, and very, very sad. Coulson also learned that there was a little piece of blood-warm silver visible in Xavier's back. It was a little thing, and he chattered cheerfully about being a cyborg while he let Coulson examine it, but there had been anxiety in his voice, hidden well but not completely.

His face lit up when he talked about his students, genetics, Stark's clean energy plans or the callipygian perfection of the nurse that sometimes came up from Pediatrics, but there was a deep and quiet sadness that never left his eyes. Even if he hadn't already been endearing in a funny kind of way, sympathy would have made Coulson befriend him. He had mentioned being a second cousin of Stark's, but it still strange to see the man himself instead of Xavier, standing there by the window with a bakery box and grinning from ear to ear.

"Man, I was all pissed off but now you're here and alive and standing up and everything and I just don't have the heart."

"It's good to see you, too. Has Charles been reporting back?"

"Yeah, but I've come to disrupt your delicate invalid's routine because we need some advice."

"Advice? Two brilliant scientists, Captain America and a god?"

"Well, we've been given a mission, and you always were like, our staff liaison or whatever they call the teacher that keeps an after school club like ours from turning into a degenerate orgy, so yeah." He went on to explain the situation more fully, and over donuts.


	3. Infiltration

"Well, all Coulson can tell me is that my cousin is a whore, and I don't see how that helps us." Tony ran a hand through his hair, pacing.

"No, just that if he's a sad divorcee he's the kind of guy who definitely misses sex, which is a reasonably valuable data point."

"I love it when you talk all science-y." He settled himself into Bruce's lap, left shoulder against his chest, and sighed as Bruce's arms wrapped around him. "Nothing we know about poor old Charles is going to help. We don't even know what Magneto thinks, and that's making the wild fucking assumption that this is a good idea."

"I don't know. Lately it seems like he just wants Genosha, to be left the hell alone to protect what he can of his people."

"Yeah, as motherfuckin' king. There's something fucked up about that guy, Bruce."

"You know what Shaw did to him."

"So does everyone! Just because he has a good reason to be a goddamn loon doesn't mean he isn't a goddamn loon."

"Just saying it would fuck anybody up, especially when you throw in the guilt of what happened in Cuba."

"'What happened in Cuba', Christ." Tony growled.

"It was an accident."

"Yeah, the kind you don't even have when you're the other guy."

"...You're the one who's certain about that, Tony."

In the end, to head off real bickering, they sent Natasha to gather information and agreed to disagree for the time being, getting back to rebuilding and keeping Thor supplied with ice cream and sad music. Steve moved further down the hall and Avengers Tower regained some of its precarious equilibrium.

Natasha crawled out of the Genoshan surf, mumbling that if Charles Xavier wound up having a better sex life than hers, she was going to shoot herself. To the Master of Magnetism's credit, it was pretty tricky getting up to the city and through his security, and she had a nasty little fight with a red-skinned guy with a tail before she could finally creep through the quiet streets, past a few guards, and into a dark bedroom. His breathing shifted when he woke up, but only a little, and she was filled with admiration. She was still ready when he leapt up, and a little charmed at the flash of fierce delight in his eyes when he realized her knife was ceramic.

"Clever girl, who sent you? Are you a CIA spook, an independent contractor, a neo-Nazi, a mutie killer?"

This close in, especially trying to not damage him too much, she could truly appreciate his body, how strong and graceful and deadly it was. She let him get his blood up and get invested in taking her down single-handed, and then punched him in the eye hard enough to make him stagger back, putting the fingertips of the guilty hand to her lips in an exaggerated gesture of girlish regret. "Oh, and I wanted to leave you pretty for Charles, too," she said. He froze, and for a moment she was afraid she had miscalculated and that he was going to do something horrible to the iron in her blood. Sure enough, there was a very ominous sizzling in what felt like every blood vessel in her body.

"No more games, little one."

"No," she said gently. "I just didn't want to involve Ms. Frost."

"...I often don't want to involve Ms. Frost. Proceed." He sat on the edge of his rumpled bed and gestured for her to do the same, hands professional as he plucked her other knives from their hiding places.


	4. Fanboys and Fate

"Clint, you were worried about me." Natasha was aware that a warm glow was not the proper reaction to a colleague sitting on your bed in the late afternoon sun and waiting for you to get back from a mostly secret mission, but it wasn't as if she couldn't take him down and she had missed him.

"Maybe a little." He had one hand on his bow, a tell so obvious it was funny.

"He was actually perfectly charming. And he cries easily, like some kind of medieval character."

Clint just snorted, but waited for her to shower and change and accompanied her back to the Tower, where they had a very serious debriefing on a ridiculous subject. Tony did allow that Charles was lonely as all hell, but that they should set him up with someone who wasn't goddamn Magneto. Thor sobbed into a cushion while Steve patted his shoulder, and Bruce pointed out that they could just arrange a meeting and let the two of them talk it out like adults.

"They need a reason to talk about it," Clint said, all eyes turning to him. "They do. It's easy to avoid." He looked a little tense, the way he always did when he was the center of attention.

"Fuck my life," Tony muttered, and poured himself his second drink of the day, relaxing a little when Bruce kissed his cheek.

"I've never done peace talks before," Natasha murmured, and the corner of Clint's mouth curled in a smile. "I think they should meet in Genosha, if Charles is so forgiving. It's the kind of place that makes it hard to keep your clothes on or your head in the game."

"...Breathe, Rogers."

"I'm an artist and I have a very visual mind," Steve whimpered, which had become something of a mantra in his time around Tony, who just let out an evil laugh and called Pepper to see about access to some of the CIA footage from the failed X-Factor Initiative.

"Fuck it, fuck it, if I have to be involved I'm getting those tapes." Thor perked up. "And yes, you can watch them too, you creepy fucking voyeur. Well, unless it'd really embarrass Charles."

"I want to see them for historical relevance," Steve added.

Bruce smiled sadly. "Probably won't give us much to go on."

"Meeting adjourned, then?" Tony asked.

Clint just shrugged, and Steve nodded, all of them filtering out and on their various ways. Natasha took Clint to lunch, Bruce locked himself in the lab, and Tony and Thor argued.

"He crippled my cousin, Thor!"

"How can you look at their love and say that it isn't fate?!" He gestured with Mjölnir, and Steve lightly skittered around him, hands up in self-defense.

"I can say that because of how fucked up the poor guy has been since then! Even if he wanted the crazy bastard back, he shouldn't have him!"

"YOU HAVE NO SOUL!" The miniature thunderstorm forming around him threatened to fry JARVIS, and Tony snarled, AI prepared to bring him his armor.

"Boys." Steve stepped between them, one hand on Thor's massive chest, the other on the hardness of the arc reactor under Tony's shirt. "Calm down."

"All right, but make Thor shut up about fate."

"Thor, you two are never going to agree." He nodded reluctantly, and the smell of ozone started to dissipate. "Now, let's all just walk away, and not fight."


	5. Friendship

It was shocking to see just how much younger Charles had looked only four years ago, and it made Tony angrier than ever to see that cold-eyed bastard at his side. Still, he had to admit that a frame-by-frame count of the total amount of eye contact made was pretty damn gay and just as mutual. That Erik had recoiled from every touch but Charles's, and had just shot him a fond glare when he stole the last of Erik's coffee, leaning across him and snagging the foam cup with a twinkle in his eyes that Tony realized he missed a lot.

"Hey, Bruce?" He was in bed that night, Bruce sitting up beside him and doing a crossword, like one of half of the old married couple that they sort of were.

"Yes?"

"I know it'll blow your chances of running for office, but do you wanna come out to Westchester with me?"

"What brings this on?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I've been thinking I oughta check on Charles. And he ought to meet you, just because he's a fucking telepath and can let me know if you're no good."

"Will he give me a similar warning?"

"Oh, definitely. He's very even-handed."

They left the next day, with strict instructions that Thor was not allowed to fly off the handle and that the Tower must still be standing when they got back. Steve gave them a salute that wasn't really joking, and Bruce did breathing exercises most of the way to their destination. The rest of the way they talked about Coulson, played cheesy word games and discussed again the pros and cons of using nanocyborgs against cancer.

Charles was his usual gracious self, and introduced them to his ragtag group of students. Bruce already knew that Charles had a sister and not to ask about her, that she was in Genosha and on Erik's side, whichever side that was. Bruce had studied the rise of the mutants carefully, especially since legislation made to control them would probably pertain to him as well. As far as he could tell, Erik and Charles had almost the same politics. Darwin's presence broke the ice, Bruce too fascinated by his regeneration from a stone-like and dormant state to worry much. The blonde kid with the carefully cultivated air of delinquency bristled a little, but simmered down at Darwin's light touch on his arm. It was like Erik and Charles all over again. Tony tried not to wonder too loudly how Charles could fucking stand it.

The spinal repair was at least working beautifully, and they were able to take a long walk around the grounds, Tony listening to his companions nerd out about genetics. "You need more time away, Charles. You need to be around people who won't be shocked if you get trashed."

"I have no desire to get trashed."

"Well, yeah, but you know the kind of relationship I'm describing. You should meet the rest of the guys, anyway. I know you're a Cap fan."

Charles laughed. "There is that, though I hear a certain Norse god might have a fanboy heart attack."

"We can chain him up in the basement. C'mon, it'll be fun!"

Thor actually showed surprising restraint, only fluttering around Charles slightly a lot too much. It didn't help that Charles was bright-eyed and full of questions about Asgard and American history as lived by Steve. They were both clearly taken with him, and Tony chuckled, having forgotten just what a charming bastard Charles could be. And how un-square, underneath it all. Fury maintained plausible deniability on all the green Bruce smoked to remain un-green, and all was copacetic with the three of them on the roof.

"Now, things may get just a little bit weird, but the results with cannabis are usually fairly tame."

"Did you really run experiments, or just get high a lot?"

"It was mostly for science."

After a while their thoughts began to slide together at the edges, an easy and unobtrusive jumble of free associations and pretty images and philosophy. They talked about everything under the sun, and it was only after they had sped Charles on his way that Thor pounced on them with questions, and demanded to be allowed to squee over all the old footage, which he did.


	6. HULK SHIPS IT

"I just bugs me when people wanna study you, like you're some kinda newly-discovered fish."

"Scientists study everything." Darwin smiled and tipped Alex's chin up. "Besides, you're cute when you're protective." Alex blushed and kissed him to shut him up, all according to plan.

"Baby?" Alex asked a while later, Darwin wrapped around him in the tangled sheets.

"Yeah?"

"You think he looks a little happier?"

"A little."

"Think Tony's up to something?"

"Definitely." He stroked Alex's hair. "But I also think he wouldn't fuck Charles over on purpose."

"Erik didn't fuck him over on purpose." He clung a little more tightly, and Darwin grew a little bit without thinking about it, the better to gather Alex in.

"...Think the Avengers are in on whatever it is?"

"Probably." He kissed Alex's temple and rubbed his back. "Charles will be okay."

Miles away, Thor rolled back and forth across the floor, clutching a pillow and sobbing. Steve groaned, glancing over to be sure the hammer was where Thor had left it, tilted against the wall like a baseball bat instead of an object of incredible power.

"THEIR LOVE WAS SO PURE."

"Seemed like it, yeah."

"THERE SHOULD BE AN OPERA ABOUT IT."

"Probably."

"I would want him back." Thor's eyes welled up with tears yet again. "I want my brother back."

Steve sighed. "Believe me, I know." He put a comforting hand on that massive shoulder and squeezed gently. For all the shock, revulsion and annoyance of how much and in what ways Thor wanted Loki, Steve did feel for him. And so held his tongue and started the archive footage for the ninth time.

Later that week, Charles considered his next move in the chess game he and Erik had been mailing back and forth, one of many over the past four years. No telepathy, not even any technology more advanced than pen and paper. There were times Charles wanted to add some sort of note. Something about Phil Coulson and the sweetness he did such a bad job of hiding, or some milestone one of the children (and god, how old he felt) had attained. Genosha was far enough away and Erik wore the helmet enough these days to keep Charles from having any idea if he felt the same, if it was as much of a struggle to send no more personal token than N-QB3.

He always posted it himself, to some office box in Montana, where he could imagine Azazel creeping in wearing the cliche slouch hat and trench coat to fetch Erik's mail. That day his missive hit the bottom of the empty mailbox with an archaic little clunk, and he sighed, walking away and feeling utterly alone. A call from Bruce raised his spirits a bit, particularly since it contained an invitation to come look at strange cells under high magnifications. Of course, there were all the signs of Bruce and Tony's happy domesticity, emotional traces of his wayward (only slightly older) second cousin all over Bruce, and the sense of two minds that truly understood each other filling the space.

He didn't even realize that his eyes had welled up until Bruce asked if he was all right. And Charles could see what it was that had drawn Tony in so completely. That caution and control and empathy that made him seem like a resting place despite his fundamental instability. That and he gave good hugs, which he did as Charles poured his heart out about how much he still loved Erik, how he thought about him all the time and wondered what he was doing and worried for his safety and that of Genosha as a sovereign nation. A sudden shock of alarm pulled him out of his own misery, and he moved with it when Bruce shoved him back, skin tinting green and then deepening as he grew into the Hulk, formless rage battering Charles's mind.

Angry as he was, Hulk made no move to attack, just standing where he was, chest heaving. Charles soothed that savage mind as best he could, knowing how devastated Bruce would be if he destroyed his work. It took enough effort that Tony's arrival surprised him. "You all right, Charles?" He spoke softly, not taking his eyes off of Bruce.

"Yes."

"Good." He walked slowly to the Hulk, not making eye contact or any sudden movements. "It's okay, big guy. Just relax. I'm here, you're home, and if you really need to wreck shit there's a whole demolished area to fuck up. Just relax."


	7. Infiltration II

The Hulk was born of rage, but there was a strange, paradoxical stability to him, just like his other self. As long as Tony was in sight, he was docile, grunting or snarling his irritation at things, but never striking. Tony was cautious, but never once truly afraid of him as he coaxed him out of the lab and through various corridors to a place of snapped and twisted rebar and irreparable concrete where the two of them sat and watched Hulk break things.

"You were crying on his shoulder, right?"

"Possibly literally."

"Ah. He's pretty protective." He smiled fondly at the green behemoth growling to itself and smashing concrete to powder. "Always wants to find whoever hurt you and tear the bastard a new one."

"I hope he doesn't have enough of a sense of direction to swim to Genosha."

"So you really miss him, then?"

"How do you know it's not pure hate?"

"Big guy wouldn't have felt sorry for you."

"Fine. I do miss him. I am in fact pining, but very quietly."

"Shit, Charles."

"No one understood him!" He raised his voice even though yelling around a relatively calm Hulk was a bad idea, tears coming again. "He's damaged, and frightened and fierce and I still fucking love him!"

"Charles..." Tony muttered in a warning sing-song, and there was suddenly an awful lot of green approaching rapidly. Before he had time to muster any kind of defense, mental or otherwise, Hulk had snatched him up. "Hey. Hey, don't hurt him or we're gonna have to have words." Rather than hurt him, Hulk sat down with Charles in the crook of one arm, snuggling him like a child with a doll. He barely dared to breathe while the massive creature stroked his hair and straightened his clothes. It was horribly sticky when he licked Charles's tears away, but the sentiment was appreciated.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Bruce said when he was himself again, completely naked and trying to somehow wipe Charles's face clean with the sleeves he didn't have. "Are you all right? Tony, did the other guy bust anything expensive?"

"We're fine, except the years you scared off my life picking Charles up like that."

"I'm perfectly all right, honestly." He commandeered the first available shower, and then patiently sat through a brief examination to convince Bruce that he was telling the truth.

Once Charles was gone, Bruce slumped against the wall. "Jesus Christ."

"It's okay." Tony wrapped his arms around him, kissing him softly. "You didn't hurt anybody or even anything, really. And now I know you'll fucking maul Magneto if he hurts my cousin again."

"You think so?"

"Looks like the big guy's a shipper."

His lips quirked in a shy smile. "I'll try not to be as bad as Thor."

It was later that week in Genosha that Clint at last made Buckethead's personal acquaintance. His very personal acquaintance. There was a time and a place for letting men pin you to their beds, and it was called college. "A plastic bow. Tell me, do you know the girl with the ceramic knife?"

"Yes."

"Ah." He eases up a little. "And did she give you this address?"

"No."

"I take it you and the young lady are... close?"

"To a point."

"Ah. I have not moved in on your girl, as the saying goes, though I can see where the worry comes in."

"She says you're gay."

"She says that to make you feel better, but I haven't had much time for that sort of thing."

He sat on the edge of the bed as if Clint really had come for a social call and while generally that sort of thing didn't work on him, he found himself shoulder to shoulder with Magneto, sipping burning clear local liquor out of tiny glasses and explaining about girls like Natasha, debts, and painful histories.

"It's a complicated relationship."

"That goes without saying." Magneto knocked back the rest of his drink. "They all are."

"You'd know."

"I would. More poison?"

"Absolutely."

He poured for both of them, and examined the bow. "You must be one hell of a shot, hauling this into gunfights."

"And alien invasions and god knows what else."

"Hm." He set it down again, and flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "This is not where I saw myself. Drinking rocket fuel with a hired bow."

"It's where you are."

"Are all snipers sensible? I've never met one yet who wasn't."


	8. Walk of Shame

"So says 'they were just following orders.' Yeah. Yeah, that fucked up thing people used to say to me in Shaw's installation. An' you know what else?" Erik leaned in close enough to his visitor to drown in those blue eyes, breathing fumes all over him. Clint stared back, both of them swaying slightly.

"What?"

He tapped Clint's nose in time to his words. "He. Never. Said. Sorry."

"...Not even a lil' bit?" Clint's eyes widened in horror.

"Not even a lil' bit."

"That sonofawhore."

"And then I got him all pephera--paralyzed and then it was jus' easier to go 'way. 'Way 'way 'way off to my own country."

"Not a bad country. Too hot, maybe."

"Fuck you, it's an awesome country."

Erik woke up slowly, giving the headache time to settle in. Ah, yes. There it was, with every beat of his heart. This was a sad state of affairs. Missing Charles too much and sitting up at night, drinking alone... Well, clearly not drinking alone, there was someone in bed with him. Someone nice and warm and hard and apparently very friendly, wrapped around Erik the way he was. He rolled away and yelped, sitting up with the bow in his hand. Right. The archer. Who was mumbling 'Tasha' and rolling into the warm spot Erik had left for all his bitching about the Genoshan heat.

_Have you finally moved on? Ooh, he's pretty._

_Get out of my head, Emma._

_Then get up, get rid of your boytoy and come to work. Oh, and your thing about big blue eyes? Pathetic._

_Bitch, I know where your flaw is._

Morning pleasantries over, he smacked Clint's face until he jolted up. "Urraughwwl?"

"Can you crawl out of here on your own?"

"Oh Jesus fucking Christ, did we..."

"I sincerely doubt it."

"...Ouch."

"You know you're pretty, get out of here."

The worst part was probably that Natasha was there to greet him when he got back the Tower. "Is it still a walk of shame if you took a boat?"

"Please." He went in search of ginger ale and rolled the can against his forehead when he found one. "'We just talked.'"

"I'll bet you did. You know Thor will kill you if he finds out."

"There's nothing to find."

There may have been nothing to find, but he had to brief the rest of the team anyway, and put up with Thor's squeeing. By the end of it he had a great deal of sympathy for the nervous tic Steve seemed to have developed in the corner of one eye.

"It is fate! He's too loyal even after all this time to sleep with you!" Clint blinked, and Thor pulled his head out of the cushion he was hugging to stare. "You are more than comely enough to be a serious temptation, Clint."

"Maybe, if I was gay."

"If you were gay," Bruce said mildly.

"I'd shout 'hurray'!" Tony sang, pouring his fourth drink.

"Either way, I'm not. Probably the only one in the friggin' room besides Cap," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking out, missing Steve's blush and ignoring Tony's yells that Kinsey died for their sins and they should by rights use his scale.

"At least we can tell Charles what part of it he fucked up now," Bruce murmured.

"Yeah, but should we?"

"Don't breathe on me, you know what the smell does to my temper."

"Sorry, baby." It came out more quietly than he wanted it to, and Bruce hugged him.

"I know."

"Well." Steve practically leapt to his feet, ready to flee to the kitchen again, where he had taken to cooking mass quantities of extremely fattening food when things were getting to him. "Nothing else, right?"

"Nothing but love, my friend!"

Steve tried not to cringe, but let Thor follow him down.

Tony sighed. "...We ought to give that boy a medal."

"I'm sure they've done it already."

"I mean one specifically for tolerating fanboy Thor."

"...A physical token would be an insult to the depths of his sacrifice, I think."


	9. Stealing People's Mail

"What? You've just been hanging around, listening to them moon over each other?! As god is my witness, once I'm out of this hospital--"

"Coulson, you're alarming the staff." Fury gently took his arms and stopped their agitated waving. "You keep forgetting how fucked up you've gotta be to put on a costume in the first place. None of us are good at this."

"Yeah, but Xavier and Magneto are the worst-kept secret in the entire mutant community!" He was still agitated, but Fury let him go.

"That's presumably part of the problem."

"Yes, but you don't just listen to them spew about much they miss each other! Who's arranging for them to run into each other, sending ghostwritten love letters? Something, _anything_ proactive!" He paused. "And you don't wear a costume, why are you so terrible?"

He put a hand on each of Coulson's shoulders, his one eye completely earnest. "Because _I don't care_. Really, I don't. I do not give a shit who sleeps with who, and I have had it with these motherfucking' fanboys on my motherfuckin' team!"

"Still. I mean, send one of them flowers, or something, for Christ's sake! This is ridiculous."

Thus was the information that Fury took back to his Avengers. They were almost entirely useless. Steve pointed out that he had been a scrawny and asthmatic artist before it was fashionable and would still be a virgin if not for nude portraiture. Tony said that Titanicing was all very well, but in his experience Magneto couldn't draw and unsolicited flowers generated profound suspicion. Or groupie squeals, but here this was unlikely. Bruce sulked for the rest of the meeting, and muttered that many of those who couldn't draw could write, and that Cyrano de Bergeracing was all very well but fundamentally dishonest and immature. And that Hulk showed his affection by murdering things that hurt people he liked and that Magneto already did that.

"What about you, Clint?"

"...I'm the kinda guy who carries a torch and never says anything."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Of course you are. Look, they're already playing chess by mail, they're in contact, they just need more."

"Chess by mail? What is this, 1850?" Tony muttered.

Thor squealed and joyfully threw his cushion ceilingward. "This is a most auspicious sign!"

And that was how Natasha found herself steaming open a letter to Genosha, Clint serving as her lookout, making sure the street stayed deserted and that the postman didn't come early. After much debate and floods of manly tears from Thor, they had at last had Steve press one perfect red rose, and Clint stake out the mailbox Xavier usually used.

"Nearly done there?"

"Nearly. The fold pattern has to be exactly right to make up for the extra thickness."

"At least it's the right kind."

"I saw you creeping around the greenhouses."

"I guess I've become invested. Besides, if we failed and he even knew we had been trying..."

"He might harm himself more than others, but it would still be a failure." She sealed it again, pleased to see not so much as the suggestion of a wrinkle from the steam. "All clear?"

"All clear." He kept watch as Natasha returned the letter to its rightful place before climbing back up up through the window to collect her equipment and to remove all traces of their presence.

Erik wasn't sure what to make of it when he opened the letter. Of course Charles had gotten himself out of check and his queen out of danger, Erik hadn't been expecting to mate him so easily. But the rose was new. Nothing else, as he searched the envelope, but it was still something. Looking closer, it was one of those old-fashioned and heavily scented ones Charles liked so much. He had sometimes wondered if the corner of the greenhouse the two of them had coaxed to life was the same, and now it appeared to be. Some of the scent still lingered and he held the letter to his face, breathing it in. He stopped sharply, reminded of that t-shirt of Charles's, still hoarded away in his closet and tried to think of his next move instead. Before he knew it he had drawn a rose on the piece of stationary he was using, and growled in irritation. He noted the movement of a knight with no destination and sat there for a long time, remembering Charles.

In the end, he made what was probably an unsound move in their game, and then made one in life by leaving the drawing and adding the first extraneous note in the three and a half years or so this had been going on:

_I miss you, Charles._


	10. Instinct

Charles choked when he saw the message beside the move, and read it over and over, eyes filling with tears even as he smiled over the tiny and inept little drawing. All artistic endeavor save occasional abstract sculpture was beyond Erik. He pressed a kiss to it because he was alone in his study, and then hid it as quickly as he could without rumpling it in his desk as Alex burst in. "Uh, Charles?"

"Yes?"

"Beast has gone and mutated again and he's pretty upset about it."

"A tertiary mutation?" He grabbed his cane on the way out because the day was hot enough to interfere with his spinal repair.

Alex bit his lip. "I guess. He's out in the woods, and told me to get you if it had to be anybody."

"Oh dear." _Hank?_

What he got back was bestial indeed, simmering resentment and fear and... oh. Oh, dear. He ran the rest of the way, heat be damned. "Hank? Hank! Do not do anything you'll regret!"

"I haven't touched her." He was leaning his head against a tree, looking miserable. One of their newest arrivals perched on a high branch, thankfully looking unharmed and quite calm. "It's... I'm not that much of a monster."

His body had changed again, but more subtly. Heavier, stronger and less human, slightly hunched forward, with ears elongated and pointed, the fur on his head swept back. There was a heavy musk about him and his fur was a deeper blue.

"It's all right, Hank." He raised his voice, "All right, Jean?"

"Yeah. I got a little scared, and woosh! right up." Hank groaned miserably, shuddering. "Really, look after him."

Hank snarled, and reeled back, growling that he was going to his lab and that Charles should warn everyone out of his way. Once he was out of sight, Jean floated down, Alex putting an arm around her. "You sure you're all right?"

Jeans blushed. "He didn't want to hurt me." She touched her temple the way Charles did. "I could tell that. I'm just not ready to have children."

"And neither is Hank. Are you saying he's in some kind of, of... rut?"

"From what I could tell. I don't think--" she blushed again, looking every bit as young as she was, "I don't think he would have raped me, even if I couldn't have used my TK to push him away. But he's embarrassed enough as it is." Charles nodded, his heart aching for poor Hank, who is so shy.

"You sure? Those were some mean noises he was making." Alex looked profoundly relieved, wiping sweat from his face.

Jean shook her head. "No, he thought you wanted me too. That's what all the roaring was about."

"Oh. Oh! God, you're like a kid sister, don't even say that!"

Jean glared at him, pride wounded as any still mostly flat-chested fourteen-year-old's would be. "Well, it's not as if he'll be selective if it's some subconscious, glandular thing."

"Nor are any of us, really. I'm just glad everyone is all right."

Really, between Hank's new mutations and Alex's subsequent blast-control problems, it's a long time before he can make his answering move, and write I've missed you, too. on it, beside a sketch of his own.

Clint kept watch for Natasha again. "Anything?" He asked, not taking his eyes from the window. He wasn't expecting a soft, girlish squeal of delight. "Tasha?"

"Omigod that's so sweet! He drew a sprig of ambrosia on it!"

"Of what now? Get that resealed, we're behind time."

Her fingers fly to make the letter as perfect as it was before she interfered. "Ambrosia. Really ragweed, but some of them have pretty flowers and they mean that your love is returned." She gets it back into the box flawlessly. Clint bows out of returning to Avengers Tower, because he really, really doesn't want to hear Thor's squeals of joy.

Azazel was just pleased to find a letter from Charles in the box, because it meant an end to Erik's sulking. There had been many gaps and delays over the years, especially in the beginning, but the letters had been almost perfectly regular for the past year, and Erik was in that state of mind where he hid out in the jungle and pulled iron from the mountains and terrified all the animals.


	11. Correspondence

"Erik."

He looked up from the elaborate, tiny cairn he was fashioning of pure iron. "Yes, Azazel?" It was more prissy than polite, but it would do.

"He wrote back." Azazel was unprepared for the way his current lord and master leapt at him, snatching the envelope. "I suppose I should leave you alone?"

"Yes. Yes, you should." As soon as Azazel was gone, Erik found a rock to sit on and opened the letter. It was dead silent, even most of the insects staying away from him and the paper was slowly but surely dampening in the humidity.

Later, Erik thought it was a mercy that Charles could draw so much better, hauling out a few hoary old books to identify the flower and its meaning. He wondered if Charles had expected him not to bother and barely thought about his move, hunting for the right flower to send with it.

Natasha clapped both her hands over her mouth, and Clint couldn't be sure if it was horror or not. "Tasha?"

She squealed soundlessly, eyes shining as she waved the letter in his face and he reeled back. "What's that smell?"

"Balsam! Omigodomigod..." He smiled, with a quizzical cock of his head, charmed at seeing the most deadly woman he had ever met like this. "It means 'ardent love'."

"Oh. Well, that's a good sign."

"Isn't it, though?" She had regained some of her customary cool, carefully opening the missive and smiling sadly. "Aaaww. We should have got on this sooner. Rue, balsam and a move this shitty? He's still in love."

Charles hadn't expected Erik to really pick up on the drawing, and was very surprised at his fragrant and heavier than usual reply. Examining its contents over and over, he finally wrote the first real letter to pass between them:

_Dearest Erik,  
It's hard to say anything to you after all this time, but it's better than silence. I'm not going to begin this again and again only to throw it away, because there are no facile words for all that is between us. You betrayed my trust and hurt me, but I miss you terribly. I want to talk to you again, to tell you about the children, just to see you. I'm certain neither of us is ready for that, but please, write back._

_Sincerely,  
Charles_

"Now that they're actually writing to each other, we should probably stop reading their mail," Clint muttered.

"Now is exactly the time to read their mail. If you're not talking you can't fuck up."

"Yes you can."

"Not over as great a distance. We might have to Cyrano this after all, and it's good to keep abreast of the proceedings."

Tony looked his cousin up and down, and nodded decisively. "Charles, you look like shit. What's wrong?" He poured him a drink as he folded himself into an armchair.

"...I wrote to Erik."

"Haven't you two been playing prehistoric chess or whatever?"

"Yes, but there haven't been any actual words attached."

"Wow."

Charles took his glass when it was offered. "I know you think this is a bad idea, and the knowledge has nothing to do with telepathy."

"I'm not exactly subtle," Tony agreed, lounging in the other chair. "I just... You were so fucked up after he left. And I would know."

"I went for a run this morning, by the way. Thank you very much."

"You're just as welcome. We've got a sleeker version in some quadriplegics now. Clapping their hands and standing up and everything."

Charles beamed. "Wonderful."

Even though Charles was his cousin and thereby icky, Tony had to admit that he could see how a guy might fall in love, watching those eyes light up. "It is. Y'know, I never thought I'd be making all this... peaceful shit. It's weird."

"It's maturity and Bruce's good influence."

"Ha! You actually called me 'mature'! Jarvis, did you get that?"

"Indeed, sir."

"Just remember the part about Bruce," Charles said, laughing.


	12. Changes

Charles would have fretted and pined waiting for Erik's reply, but the situation with Hank kept him quite busy. He supposed he should be glad it was rut and not heat, since he actually worked quite well in his lab as long as everyone stayed away from him. For whatever reason, Charles was safe. Hank didn't try to fight him or fuck him, so he spent a lot of time carrying food down and listening to him growl and complain and try not to smash delicate instruments. His heart went out to Hank, as it always had. The animal instincts he was fighting had always been part of him, but at a much lower level of consciousness, and he had been able to pass. Even four years later that was a lot to lose.

"Any better tonight, Hank?"

"No." He quivered, setting a rack of test tubes down almost hard enough to break them. "Charles, I-- I can't take much more of this."

"We could find you a partner, you know. Let you chase someone through the woods who's legal." Hank cringed, and Charles smiled softly. "Jean is very pretty, though. And bears you no ill-will."

"...Least the girls here have powers to use on me. I was just never this kinda guy before."

"I begin to think it's only because you were too shy to be."

Hank snarled. "Well, at least this will run its course eventually."

 _Charles, you are a fucking master of understatement_ , Erik thought, reading the letter again. He had already lost track of how many times it had been. It didn't help that it was so short, either. He swallowed hard around a sudden lump in his throat, wanting to press his face to the letter but reasonably sure the writing would transfer and he would never live it down. In the end, he did what Charles had vowed not to, and started and burned his reply at least as many times as he had read Charles's letter.

What finally went from Genosha to its written return address in Montana was this:

_Charles:  
I welcome anything you would share with me. I think of you every day._

_\--Erik_

Tasha grumbled about the lack of salutation, but Clint shook his head. "No. It's 'cause he can't even bear to write it down. If Xavier doesn't know him well enough to see that, I don't see how this can work." He looked out at the mailbox again, missing the considering way Tasha looked at him.

"...You're right. He might still need help later, though."

"Probably." Clint sighed, and said a little prayer in his heart for the clumsy bastard.

It wasn't often that things that weren't his business woke Charles anymore. Training himself along with everyone else, it had reached the point where only the sharpest of emotions or the loudest of thoughts could wake him, and he sat up in shock, bathed in hurt and hostility. He could scramble up almost as fast as ever, but grabbed his cane to be on the safe side, glad he had it when there was a break in the signal that made his left knee try and drop him on the stairs. Alex and Darwin were in the kitchen, having something much more serious than a lover's spat.

"Terribly sorry to intrude..." He murmured, and Alex grunted and stormed out. Darwin just leaned against the counter and watched Charles put the kettle on, looking more upset than he had ever seen him.

"Guess we got a little loud."

Charles tapped his temple. "You did. What's wrong?"

"...It takes a lot to make me jealous, Charles."

"That is what I would have supposed of you. Tea?"

"Please." He was quiet while it steeped, listlessly stirring in lemon and sugar when Charles poured him a cup. "He's been all over Hank and he won't even admit it."

"Define 'all over'." All over apparently meant hanging around the lab and not actually doing anything about it when Hank had pounced on him. Apparently there had been licking, and Charles was surprised Hank's embarrassment hadn't been the thing to wake him.


	13. Stealing People's Mail II

_Charles:  
Since receiving your letter I have been very busy, but I suppose you know that. How are you?  
\--Erik_

"Well, it's better than nothing." Natasha sighed. "He needs to quit tear-assing around as Magneto if he wants Genosha to really be accepted as a sovereign nation."

Clint just shrugged. "He's kinda Old Testament."

_Dear Erik,  
I am well aware. And very proud of you for not killing anyone, even with all that structural damage. I am much the same as ever, and the children are mutating and forming love triangles and all the usual things._

_Sincerely,  
Charles_

"Aren't they past puberty by now?"

"Doesn't always matter. This could maybe use a flower, but the sentiment is good."

_Charles:  
Love triangles? Make them fight it out and have done. No mooning about._

_\--Erik_

_P.S. -- There are no words for how glad I am that I can still make you proud of me._

There was sprig of rosemary and a pressed peony enclosed, which Natasha explained were for remembrance and bashfulness and which made Thor fly swooping figure-eights of joy, Steve watching and shaking his head. Bruce just shook his head, prophesying doom if they turned Magneto's methods back on him.

"People who say all or nothing confrontation is best for these things are always hypocrites."

"Not all of them, come on." Tony bounced on the arm of the couch, still awake from the night before and rather manic.

"Most of them."

_Dear Erik,  
I have never been ashamed of you. Worried about you, afraid for you, and by turns furious and devastated at your psychological damage, but never ashamed._

_Sincerely,  
Charles._

Clint claimed to have something in his eye, and convinced Natasha not to share that one, croaking slightly.

_To my little sugar pig:  
Things in reverse-chronological order of importance:  
2\. I am drunk.  
1\. I love you.  
5\. You need to stand up to those Humanity First fucks. Little bastards don't get it, don't get that you don't have to be nice.  
0\. You're not a sheep, you're a wolf.  
6\. I love you.  
other number: I still jerk off to that time after the strip club. You?_

Natasha laughed at that for a long time before she caught the pained look on Clint's face. "Barton?"

"I might've written a letter a lot like that when I was very young."

"You poor silly thing. It's too bad you didn't have me to help you." She had always come prepared to make forgeries, and got right to work.

_Charles:  
I wrote a reply, but had had too much to drink. It was stupid, and also entirely too honest._

_\--Erik._

_Dear Erik,  
I wish I had seen it._

_Sincerely,  
Charles_

"Oh no, you don't," Clint muttered. "We should thank our lucky stars it wasn't poetry."

"Oh, it may be yet. Hopefully sober poetry."

There was similar discussion and deception in Genosha.

"Azazel? You didn't actually post that thing I wrote, did you?"

Azazel considered this in silence, tail making sinuous curves. "I do not believe I did."

"You do not believe you did?"

"I didn't. I knew how drunk you had been."

"Oh, thank god." Erik sighed.

_Charles:  
You never cease to amaze me, old friend._

_\--Erik_

_P.S. -- You need to stand up to HF. They don't know you're actually this nice. It looks conciliatory._

"He is right about those creeps. I keep telling Charles the same thing. Drink?"

"Please," Clint muttered.

"Oh, I hope they won't quarrel over matters of state. Not after all this."

"Thor, if you cry again, I'm going to lose my mind. Please try and get hold of yourself." Steve's twitch had only grown more pronounced, and it probably didn't help to have Thor engulf him in a giant, crying hug. "Please! My god I'll go and talk to Magneto myself, just stop crying! You're breaking my fucking heart, you big sissy!"

"...So they did say 'fuck' in the forties!"

"Under extreme provocation." Steve growled, rubbing Thor's back

_Dear Erik,  
You're probably right. But if so, you need to stop being so cold to the Alliance. I thought their chairman was going to cry at that last summit._

_Sincerely,  
Charles_

_Charles:  
They're just so soppy, but you're probably right. I never said I was good at this. Are the children keeping well?_

_\--Erik_

_Dear Erik,  
Well, the triangle has resolved itself in a way satisfactory to all involved parties (if you take my meaning), Sean is flying well, and Hank has changed again._

_Sincerely,  
Charles_

_Charles:  
Kids these days. Has Hank come into more fur, or less?_

_\--Erik_

_Dear Erik,  
More fur, but personally I think it suits him._

_Mutant and Proud,  
Charles_


	14. Avalanche

"This doesn't necessarily mean they're going to argue about politics," Coulson said dreamily, tipped back, tucked in and medicated for the night.

"You think?" Clint sat beside the bed in the dark, brooding.

"I do. I mean, they do need to talk about it, and actual paper letters are probably the safest way."

"Safest."

"They're both seriously damaged goods, Barton." He yawned "You know, like all of us. This gives them time to think about what they're saying, and the whole language of flowers bit lets them express things they can't even bear to put into words. I mean, that's kind of what it's for. You should try it on Romanov."

"Very funny, Coulson."

"That's right, I was too dead to tell you! When you were... compromised, she cried. Not just to fuck with Loki, either."

"...Oh."

"Seriously, Clint. I don't know if I can watch you two screw around for much longer." He yawned again, asleep by the time Clint reached the window to climb out the way he had come in.

The next batch of letters were enough to base an entire book of political theory on, but at least a few things were definitely thrashed out, among them that inhibitor collars were the devil, that people who came in non-traditionally human skin and hair colors needed a term of their own, and that mutantkind was best served by having both a nation like Genosha to retreat to and media-friendly advocates in the wider world. They did argue passionately, but distance served to keep them in check, neither of them saying anything they would regret.

"Way to grab every headline in the world, Steve. Coffee?"

"Well, it's true! People did ask each other about 'the Negro Problem' when I was growing up, and I don't see how a Mutant Problem is much different. And yes, please."

"Sweet, really," Pepper murmured, sipping her coffee and reading five different articles at once as Steve blushed and devoted all his attention to getting the right amount of cream and sugar into his cup.

"Well, 'it's always the same problem-- thinking of your fellow Americans as a problem' is certainly friendlier than Thor waving his hammer around and inviting all those with powers who want to protect the earth to join him in thumping the other guys."

"Which still appeals to certain demographics."

"Steve!" Thor threw the door open and hurled himself at Steve, giving him a bruising hug. "My friend, you have worked wonders!"

"...Uh, thanks?" Steve squeaked, feet a good six inches off the floor.

It was only later that he learned that his statement had avalanched, providing the last shove to an unprecedented conference that Professor Charles Xavier and Magneto would both theoretically be attending. He warned Thor not to get too excited on the grounds that Magneto probably wouldn't show up. Seeing those eyes well up with tears again was just too much, and he found himself dropping into Genosha under cover of night.

"You know," a cold female voice said, "I'm supposed to be chief of security around here, but I'm beginning to wonder if I should even bother."

"Ms. Frost?" He had looked around for her, jumping when she materialized right in front of him.

"You only thought you didn't see me before."

"Yes, ma'am. I need to see Magneto."

"Why?"

"...Because I'm a bad liar and have to be able to tell a friend I tried to talk him into attending the conference."

"You really are adorable, you know that? I'll just sweep your head and get out of your way, if you're as truthful as you say."

"What do I need to do?"

_Just stand there._

_Yes, ma'am._

Twenty minutes later and blushing redder than the demonic-looking mutant who just bowed deeply rather than trying to stop him, Steve made his way to Magneto's study. Sure enough, he was still up, tipped back in his chair and watching an iron bar pour itself through a smooth figure-eight in midair.

"I know you're there."

"Good, I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."

"I'm surprised Frost let you through." He glanced over and smirked. "So that's your type? Be careful, she's a man-eater."

"That's neither here nor there. I was sent to encourage you to actually show up for this conference."

"In an inhibitor collar and plastic shoes? I think not."


	15. Conference

In the end, everyone wore plastic shoes to the conference, and no one had an inhibitor collar. "Way too kinky, happy to compromise," as Tony had said. They watched the proceedings on an enormous screen, Tony making a giant bowl of popcorn and settling in against Bruce's side with it.

"Real butter?" Steve asked, stealing a handful.

"Of course. Some of us still have human decency."

"Have you had a hard time getting used to all the margarine?" Natasha asked, curling up in an armchair that let her watch the whole room.

"Well, back in my day--"

"Is it story time, Grandpa? Tell the one about walking to school in the snow!" Bruce lazily covered Tony's mouth as Steve went on.

"Back in my day, you only used margarine if you had to. I ate enough of the stuff as a kid."

"This is all very gripping, but it's starting," Clint murmured.

"Oh, fuck the keynote speaker, it's just some Alliance dipshit."

"You know it's not knowing Charles that ruins your chance of ever running for office, right, Tony?"

"I know, baby. I come pre-ruined. I am high-cost distressed jeans."

"How no one ever guessed you might be bi is beyond me," Natasha muttered.

The keynote speaker was just some Alliance dipshit, but everyone shut up and paid attention once things really got underway.

"Okay, do you think he actually used his powers to say something, there?" Steve was taking notes on a yellow legal pad

"No, I think that's just their regular eye-fucking. God! Mags! That's my cousin and you're on national TV, keep it in your... sockets. Seriously, I think that look counts as a gay sex act in at least fifteen states."

"Did he just pass him a note?" Steve squinted at the screen.

"Yes," Clint murmured.

"Hope it's not a 'Check Yes or No'," Bruce muttered, passing the bowl to Natasha.

"Even Erik is better than that," she said. "Not by much, perhaps..."

"Hey, it's Steve's girlfriend!" Tony chirped as Emma Frost came into the frame.

"I've only met her once!"

"Tony, be nice or be duct taped."

"You brute, you brute, you vicious brute," Tony cooed, nuzzling Bruce's shoulder.

"You know girls, this is history in the making," Steve muttered.

"So we should at least pretend to pay attention?" Tony asked, craning his neck to look up at Steve.

"Yes."


	16. Policy

_Do you honestly think it won't end in camps?_

Charles sighed, scribbling an answer with no change of expression, passing the note back.

_If it does, I'll flee to Genosha. Also, Ms. Frost and I need to have a nice, long conversation about telepathic ethics._

Erik kept it, and palmed it to Charles during the lunch break without looking at him.

_I don't know if the woman can spell telepathic ethics. It was you I wanted to build a nation with, Charles._

He left his reply at Erik's seat as they filed back in and took their places, going over his notes and turning all his attention to the current speaker.

_I know. But bombarding me with inappropriate images culled from the mind of a certain all-American gentleman is just ridiculous._

He had the satisfaction of seeing Emma wince, she and Erik involved in what seemed like a short and sharp telepathic conference. He turned his attention back to his work, and managed to keep it there until the next break, when his phone rang. He knew it would be Tony in a way that had nothing to do with telepathy. "Yes?"

"Dammit, what does the note say?"

"I hardly think that's any of your business."

"It's dirty, isn't it?"

"You're dirty," he mutters, petulant.

"Yeah, but what's in the damn note? Are you two fighting again?"

"We have been discussing policy."

"That's it? What about that look he gave Frost?"

"That was about telepathic ethics."

"Thor is dying over here, you know."

He couldn't help but smile. "Poor thing."

"And Cap is curious but won't admit it, and I can't bear him when he does that."

"You might let him know that Ms. Frost helped herself to a few more personal thoughts during that mind-sweep."

"...She hasn't fucked with him, has she?" There was immediate protectiveness in his voice, and Charles felt a surge of affection for his cousin.

"Not on any deeper level."

"Hey, Cap! Frost fucked with your head!"

"I know!" It was an embarrassed yelp barely picked up by the speaker, and Charles had to laugh.

"Poor choice of words, perhaps."

"Oh, is that what happened, Steve?" There was a whoosh and a clatter of the phone hitting the floor, and Charles could just make out the scuffle on the other end, chuckling as he hung up.

"You wouldn't hit a guy with a arc reactor, would you?"

"Damn right, I would!"

"Well, I guess I'd hit a war hero, that's fair."

Natasha just rolled her eyes and Bruce pulled his feet up onto the couch, bogarting the popcorn as Steve and Tony tussled on the rug. As per usual, it ended with Steve sitting on Tony. He leaned back to snag the bowl from Bruce, and offered some to his victim who just growled and tried to crawl away.

"Get off me, you're fucking heavy." Steve shifted enough to let Tony slither out from underneath him. "And physical supremacy doesn't change the fact that Emma Frost is broadcasting your perversions."

Steve blushed badly, for once looking as young as he really was. "I'm not a pervert!"

"Yes you are."

"We all are," Bruce added. "Tony's maybe more of one than average, but..."

"I have never once heard you complain. About the fucking, anyway."

"We are not having this conversation," Steve muttered, passing the bowl to Clint in response to his mute entreaty.

"Oh, yes we are."

"You are." Bruce turned to Steve, pushing his glasses up with his habitual nervous gesture. "Tony's an exhibitionist, as if we all didn't know."

"Like they don't know you like bondage," Tony grumbled.

Steve squeaked, and Clint blinked eloquently. "Of course he does." Natasha shrugged and stretched, extending and curling up again like a cat. "I mean, control and the lack thereof is sort of Banner's thing. Now hush, they're back."


	17. We Can't Have Nice Things

Charles Xavier was the sort of man who gave interviews. He was open and disarming and really rather sweet, and had always been good at public speaking. It hardly seemed public when he did it, with the way he drew his audience in. Leaning on the podium, affable, friendly, and non-threatening, he seemed to talk to everyone in the hall as if they were on opposite sides of a nice little endtable, probably with warming drinks on it. He spoke at length about the need for peace and understanding, and Tony supposed he did seem a little too nice. Not like the Alliance, but still maybe a little too nonthreatening.

"See, this is why they need each other!" Thor hugged his cushion, eyes wide and guileless blue.

"God save me from fanboys," Tony muttered. "Did they seriously put Mags up next? That's just sick."

"Ssshh!" Bruce perked up and Tony hugged him tightly the way he always did when mutant separatism came up, as if he would get up and walk all the way to Genosha without Tony holding him back. He noticed, as he always did, and stroked Tony's hair to soothe him as they all listened. Erik was, as Clint had told Natasha, kind of Old Testament. Speaking didn't come as naturally to him as it did to Charles, but there was kind of a cold majesty to his stiffness. His vision wasn't really much different from Charles's, he just acknowledged the fear and hostility that must rise like stink from a swamp out of disturbed humanity, and of the need for a place to be safe from it.

Clint was lounging with that deadly grace that was almost a family resemblance with him and Natasha, but towards the end of the speech suddenly jumped up and snatched Tony's phone, hitting redial and screaming, "Duck!" when Charles answered. Everyone stared, and watched the effect on the screen as Charles dumped himself out of his chair a moment before a shot rang out. The meeting place had been chosen for its lack of metal, but that didn't seem to matter much. The ground rumbled and the cameras started to flicker in and out, but through the snow they could see Erik charging down from the podium, and the gunman being tackled by security. And then there was a test pattern, the first one Tony had seen in... decades.

He had no idea how long the horrible silence lasted, everyone letting out the breath they had been holding when the image came back. Erik was floating, Charles gathered into his arms like a bride, both of them wrapped in a protective magnetic bubble that could be seen by the tiny objects and trace amounts of iron that whipped around and around it. Erik looked beyond furious and Charles a bit dazed and very alarmed, as might be expected. Clint trembled with relief and rubbed his hand over his eyes as Tony tried to call Charles again with no success whatsoever. Steve shot a nervous glance at Bruce, whose eyes were almost glowing green.

"I'm all right," he grunted, voice a bit more Hulk-like than his usual.

"Fuck, Mags must've melted his phone. I need a fucking drink, anyone else want one?" Tony tried to keep his voice from shaking.

"...Could you just fill a two-gallon bucket with scotch?" Steve squeaked.

"Bring a second one for me," Clint muttered. "Jesus." Natasha had gone over to him, and her hands on his shoulders seemed to calm him down.

"...I can't really keep the other guy back anymore. Keep me posted." Bruce left quickly and quietly, and Tony came back with booze.

"Fucking hell. D'you realize how much I owe you now, Clint? How did you know, anyway?"

"Shadows in all the wrong spots." He shuddered. The actual feed from the conference had cut off in favor of wild media speculation and details as they broke.


	18. Almost

Charles couldn't help but think of Cuba. After all, he had been in the same position in Erik's arms then and Erik was just as absolutely shattered now. His mind was a mess, skittering all over the place and full of _wontletanyoneeverhurtyouagain_ and _killthemallkillthemall_ and _MINE_. The bubble around them sizzled and wavered in the air like heat, but was quite substantial when security approached.

_Calm your mind, Erik. These people are not our enemies._

_Not yours, perhaps._ There was a tense, growling quality to the thought, but he set Charles down. Charles tried not to register his own or Erik's intense disappointment at losing physical contact, and smiled wanly. There were statements to give, checkups to submit to, and as always at these things, no damn tea. He sat with a blanket around his shoulders a styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands, other minds whirling around him like autumn leaves. He could feel Erik's among all the rest, of course. Anger and suspicion and hurt, flickers of his terrible memories. Never in all this time had Charles wanted to hold him more

It seemed to take forever before he could make his way over to Charles again. It was too much and too raw even seeing him again, but he couldn't stay away, couldn't hope to hold himself aloof. He couldn't think of anything to say, either, and just lurked close by until Charles smiled at him. "All right?"

"As long as you are." He lightly touched Charles's temple, remembering all the times he had been inside Erik's mind, and the myriad uses of his powers.

"I didn't actually feel the gunman, you know."

"What?"

Charles grimaced, pulling a pendant out from under his collar. "Please try not to get any angrier, Erik." It looked a lot like an inhibitor collar, the same alloy with similar circuitry tucked into it. The various fried cameras and other electronics quivered.

"Charles..."

"It doesn't dampen me completely, I just have to actually be looking to notice things. I thought... Well, I thought I might alarm people less, and--"

Erik rips it off him and hurls it away with all the strength in his arm, powers vengefully crushing it from a large and clunky square medallion into a ball the size of a small pea that's dense enough to crater the floor when he lets it fall. "You fucking idiot!"

"Erik--"

"How could you do this to yourself?!" His voice cracked and he covered his mouth, shaking. _Charles why you're not a monster nothing less nothing less than perfect PROTECT YOURSELF if you won't let me protect you_ A wave of rage against all humanity was only to be expected. Charles sighed, and stroked Erik's hair.

_Dearest, it wasn't a mutant that saved my life._

It took a long time for things to calm down at Avengers Tower. For the first time ever Tony just left Bruce alone with his rage, too consumed in contacting Charles. Natasha rubbed Clint's shoulders as he worked his way through a deeply embarrassing case of the shakes, and Thor went and raged with the Hulk when Pepper (through Tony) forbade him to go and pulverize the would-be assassin and anyone connected with him.

"Fuck me," Steve muttered, on his fourth drink and cursing the serum.

"Fuck everything." Clint rubbed his hands over his face. "This is why we can't have nice things."

"On the other hand, it got them touching again after four years of near-total estrangement." Natasha pressed a kiss to the top of Clint's head before moving away, leaving him blushing like someone much younger than he was.

Steve smiled. "True. And we can have nice things sometimes, if we keep the right pair of eyes around."

Clint tossed him approximately forty-seven percent of a salute.


	19. I Could Just Kiss You

Erik crept into the Tower, barely bypassing security. It was impressive, but for a man who could feel every single piece and all the connections between them, it was only difficult to get in, not impossible. The place was quiet, Earth's Mightiest Heroes all tucked away for the night as far as he could tell. Oh well, turnabout would be fair play. He prowled silently through the place, and finally found his target.

Clint woke up with all his hair-trigger instincts, and wondered when his fucked up life had gotten so fucked up that seeing his throwing knife crumple in midair made him feel relieved. "Sorry about that. Automatic."

"Believe me, I understand." Erik sat down on the edge of his bed, and Clint rubbed his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Every line of Erik's body said that he wasn't here to harm Clint, and after years of knowing Natasha, he had an excellent eye for it. He supposed he had saved Xavier's life, and refused to follow up a treacherous little line of speculation about how grateful he would be if it had been him and Tasha. For a long moment Erik didn't say anything, and then he pounced.

Clint had heard the phrase 'I could just kiss you' more times than he could count. From Tony alone, at least twice in the past week, but he had never run into anyone who really meant it until now, as Magneto, terrorist, mad prophet and despotic king of a small island nation pressed kisses to his forehead and to each cheek in turn, voice cracking a little as he thanked Clint from the bottom of his heart, strong arms looped around Clint's shoulders and clinging a little. His lips were surprisingly soft, and after a little while Clint pulled back to avoid the most awkward boner in history.

"You're welcome," he said, and meant it.

"There's no way you can understand." He kissed the top of Clint's head like a benediction, and sat up straight, blinking hard. Clint adhered to the Code of American Masculinity and pretended not to see the tears.

"Maybe a little." He shrugged.

Erik smirked, looking entirely too knowledgeable. "Perhaps." He thanked Clint again, leaving something on the nightstand and creeping out again.

"He really is rather sweet, underneath it all." Natasha prowled out of the shadows and Clint's heart turned over in his chest.

"Yeah?" It was a little more hoarse than he wanted it, but at least it came out. She came and sat down where Erik had been, and he did his best to listen to her plotting further reconciliation efforts alongside plans to destroy Humanity First and all its little bastard offspring.

Charles nearly jumped out of his skin when Azazel appeared beside him, but he had been awake, far too shaken on far too many different levels to sleep. "Azazel?"

"Professor." He tipped his chauffeur's cap, vanished and reappeared again with Raven.

"Charles!" She kept her voice down, but hugged him tightly. He hadn't seen her for a long, long time. Not since the last round of spinal surgeries when she had sat by his bed and stroked his hair, blue or blonde depending on who else was in the room. He clung to her as Azazel left them alone, and then they were both babbling over each other, full of news and overwhelming fondness. They settled at the table and talked for hours over hot chocolate, covering everything from the events of the day to Genoshan street fashion to the Chitauri invasion. The only thing they didn't talk about was Erik. It was sort of an unspoken pact between them.

In the end Raven slept over, the two of them talking long into the night. They had shared Charles's room as children, and it was soothing to lie there in the dark, on opposites sides of the double bed and letting the pauses get longer and longer until they slept. She was gone in the morning and he shuddered, thinking of Azazel there in his sleep. He checked each of the children, making sure everyone was safe before making a pot of Earl Grey and immersing himself in a genetics journal, not wanting to see himself in the headlines.


	20. No More Mr. Nice Guy

Tony was way too wired to sleep, and too drunk to be around Bruce without setting him off. It was a bad state to be in, and he was relieved to see a light in Pepper's office. Padding closer in a pair of ridiculous and ridiculously comfortable Hulk-themed slippers, the hair on the back of his neck stood up to hear a low and nasty laugh.

"Who have you just completely fucked, Pepper?" He leaned on the doorjamb, watching her.

"Humanity First, Friends of Humanity, and Humanity's Last Stand."

"Been a busy girl, haven't you?"

"Equality is important to me."

"...Oh, right. Your cousin. The green one."

"Yes, the green one. She remembers you fondly too. How much have you had to drink, Tony?"

"Five. And I didn't mean to be disrespeck-- disrespectful. It's a lovely green, goes with her hair. And she made JARVIS purr, which was weird. And funny. And weird. ...And kinda hot."

"Tony, you should go to bed."

"I would, but Bruce is there and I smell like a still. Kinda painted myself into a corner, there."

She sighed. "Oh, Tony. Why not tuck yourself into my bed? I'll be up for a while yet."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, thanking her before shuffling off to bed.

The next morning Humanity First found itself under investigation, a painstakingly buried paper trail raked up out of the earth and pointing the way directly to Humanity's Last Stand and its history of domestic terrorism. Tony Stark had made a massive donation to the one useful Alliance outreach program, and serious questions had been raised about the Mutant Liberation Front. Pepper crawled in beside Tony and slept the sleep of the just, a small smile on her lips.

Over the next week, the truth of the MLF blew wide open, that humans disguised as mutants were doing all they could to discredit them, and that neither the 'X-men' as people insisted on calling them nor Erik's people had been behind the bombings, beatings, and other vicious attacks on humanity. Well, okay. Erik had stabbed a human through the hand in the past year, but he had particularly objected to that hand and its position on Angel's unconscious body. Alex Summers went on record as saying he had fucking called it about the MLF, and Charles Xavier gave an honest-to-god speech, which he hardly ever did. It was about tolerance, as usual, but also about courage and ferocious resolve. Charles had never looked less like one of those Alliance dipshits, and Tony put 'No More Mister Nice Guy' on repeat at top volume until Bruce made him stop, at which point he called his cousin to pester him instead.

"That. Was. Awesome."

"Thank you, Tony."

"No, seriously. Awesome. I hope Mags was watching."

"We are still writing to each other, I'll probably know soon enough."

_Charles:  
I hope this finds you well. You will be pleased to know that there are graffiti portraits of you all over the island. All personal sentiment aside, you should visit. It would be good for the young people._

__

__

_\--Erik_

There were pressed flowers enclosed again. Arum, arbor vitae and mayflower. Natasha ran gentle fingertips over them. "Ardor, eternal friendship, and welcome."

"I hope he takes him up on it." Clint couldn't help but think of the neat packet of documents Erik had left on that surreal night. The papers allowed him to seek asylum in Genosha, and to bring others if he would vouch for them.

"Me too. If nothing else, it might make things interesting again."

"Wasn't Budapest interesting?"

_Dear Erik,  
As long as it was really a diplomatic visit, I would be honored._

__

__

_Sincerely,  
Charles_

Another sprig of arbor vitae was folded into this letter, along with a lemon blossom.

"Coy bitch," Natasha muttered, and Clint had to laugh.

_Charles:  
No funny business, I swear. I was thinking Azazel could pick you up and drop you off, but you're welcome to make your own arrangements._

__

__

_\--Erik._

"Ha, chestnut blossoms. They're some catty old queens, all right."

"Translation?"

"Oh, it means 'do me justice'."


	21. A Visit to Genosha

"Just... don't let him lock you up or anything."

"Alex..."

"And call home every day, and--"

"Alex! I. Will. Be. All. Right."

"...Sorry."

"I know. I'm nervous myself, but this is definitely something I have to do." He let Alex carry his suitcase, and walked down to where Azazel waited. "Darwin is in charge until I get back. Yes, you could do it but he's older and has a better temper." Azazel watched them, tail curling and uncurling, a black paper cigarette in one hand. Charles hugged Alex and took his suitcase. "Thank you for seeing me off."

"You're welcome." He stood back and watched as Azazel stubbed out his cigarette and took his passenger's arm. They vanished a second later, leaving Alex alone in the predawn dark and the cold mist that wasn't quite rain.

There was a swirl of dark strangeness, and then Azazel's voice murmuring, "Welcome to the Mutant Free State of Genosha, Professor."

It was early afternoon and the sun hit his head like a hammer. "Gaah." He blinked and squinted against the glare, grip tightening on Azazel's arm as the heat registered. The air was heavy with humidity and the scent of unknown flowers, and the blazing green of the surrounding forest reminded him of pictures of Vietnam. His legs wobbled a little, trying to go noodley on him. He leaned heavily on his cane, and shivered when he felt Erik approaching, too blurred by heat to recognize visually.

"It's good to see you again."

"I expected you to send someone."

"The wonderful thing about having your own nation, Charles, is that you create your own protocol. Is your spine all right?"

"The efferent side of things is going a bit."

Erik nodded, and there was a whirring of spokes, Erik's power towing a wheelchair into view. "We'll be all right, Azazel."

He nodded, and vanished as Erik helped Charles into the chair, picking up his limp feet and tucking them onto the footrests. "Comfortable?"

"Absolutely."

"Good. I..." He rested a hand on Charles's knee, and Charles could feel its warm weight, afferent nerves still connected.

"I've never been angry with you for protecting yourself and accidentally injuring me, Erik. It was the leaving afterward. And we weren't going to get personal."

Erik straightened up. "We weren't. Your quarters first, I think. It's what, four am in Westchester?"

"About." He settled back in the chair and let Erik push him, taking in the strange and beautiful architecture all full of curving walls and obelisk points, the touch of Erik's powers on everything. The compound revealed Erik's weirdly feudal leanings, containing his personal residence, most of the administrative offices, and an honest to god courtyard to shelter what really had to be called his subjects. Charles yawned, tipping his head back to look at Erik. "There really is white in your hair. I thought I was imagining it before."

"Yes, there is white in my hair. More every day, it seems like. Azazel says it suits me."

"It does." He yawned again. "Ugh, I should have planned this better."

"You'd be off-schedule no matter what you did, Charles." He nodded to a pair of guards and pushed Charles into a room three doors down from his own. Even if his repair spent the whole trip acting up, there was a shaded garden he could roll out into with no trouble at all. The room was cool enough that after a few minutes he could totter to his feet and explore the attached bathroom and the ridiculously comfortable bed.

"I think most people would be very surprised to find your guest room this nice, Erik."

"I have always believed in hospitality." He looked away, gazing through the glass door to the garden. "No one is expecting you anywhere until tomorrow."

"Well, in that case I'll take off my watch, kick off my shoes and ask you to wake me in about three hours."

"I will."

Charles later thought that he might have been asleep before Erik left the room. He woke up disoriented and sweaty, all the shadows strange. There was a shrill beeping from the alarm clock he hadn't seen Erik set, and he smiled, switching it off. His legs were tingly, but not too bad, and he was able to walk to the bathroom and take a cold shower that woke him up and made the repair behave again.


	22. Zion

The corridor wasn't as cool as his room, but Charles was able to manage quite well, carrying his cane more out of habit than anything else. He couldn't see any guards, but then Erik had always valued his privacy. He stopped to let a rush of memory wash over and then through him. It would be hard to pretend normalcy, but Erik's lack of pomp helped. Magneto's scarlet cloak and helm weren't even part of all his public appearances, and now he was in basic black. Just a turtleneck and slacks tailored so perfectly they were almost painful to look at. The white in his hair stood out sharply, but his barely-there smile was the same as he held the door for Charles.

"Good evening, Professor."

Charles snorted almost inaudibly, and smiled back. "Mr. President."

The meal they sat down to was a simple one, just steamed fish in a curry-like sauce over rice, what appeared to be toasted seaweed, and curiously enough, two small bowls of edible flowers. Charles found them to be crisp and sweet, nibbling one petal at a time as Erik explained some of Genosha's ecology and economy. That meat was scarce locally and an expensive import, and that the island's main crop was rice, closely followed by a myriad of edible seaweeds.

"They'd raise cattle for me if I told them too, but Alexander the Great ate the same meals as his men, so I'm not going to."

"You said a nation, Erik. Not an army."

"And I don't want war. But to keep that from happening and to win it if it does, I need that kind of loyalty."

Charles sighed, looking into those pale and earnest eyes. "Oh, my friend. It doesn't have to be Genosha against the world."

"You of all people should know better." There was a wave of deep sadness with the words, and a stream of thought, that Erik and Moira, two people who cared deeply for Charles, had been jointly responsible for severing his spine.

Without thinking about it, Charles took Erik's hand. "I meant what I said before, Erik."

He blinked rapidly, then passed his free hand roughly across his eyes. "I suppose so." There was a long silence, not entirely uncomfortable. And then Charles let go of Erik's hand.

"And what are we doing tomorrow?"

"I have the beginnings of an itinerary, but there's too much on it." He got up and went to his desk, coming back with a file and a pen, passing them across the table to Charles. "Prune it at your leisure, and feel free to make additions as well."

There was too much on the itinerary, and Charles flipped through it, nibbling on the seaweed and trying not to smile at a few useless items that were clearly there to prove that Genosha had a functioning infrastructure and that Erik had been doing a good job with his fledgling nation. Many of the others were necessary or at least deeply intriguing, and he hummed to himself, crossing some off and underlining others as Erik picked at his fish like the world's largest housecat. Charles eventually set the file aside to join him.

"Who cooks for you?"

"...I do some of it myself, but this was the work of kitchen staff. We actually have a lot of communal meals in the compound, it's easier."

"Sounds like home."

There was a sharp pang from Erik at home being in different places for each of them, and then a sudden, resolute coldness like a metal shutter coming down to hide something too painful to share. Erik stared down into his drink, collecting himself again.

"Yes. ...We weren't going to get personal, but are the children all right?"

"Thriving." It was Charles's turn to look away then. "...Angel?"

"Remorseful, but doing good work. Much like Azazel."

"But not Emma?"

He snorted. "You've been in her head, Charles. You know it for the snake pit it is."

"She has her reasons. And possible underlying sociopathy, it's hard to be sure."

"Make that 'probable.' Still, she's a capable administrator and I have yet to catch her doing anything but her best for my people."

"Your people."

"I've always been possessive, Charles. And they are mine. Mine to gather up and defend. Have you read our Constitution?"

"I have, and was pleasantly surprised by it. As I am by this seaweed." It was rich and mild, not briny at all.

Erik smiled. "Somehow I think you'd rather talk to students than see how we farm it, but just know that you can if you like."

Charles thanked him, and the rest of dinner passed in strange comfort. They caught up with little surface matters, removed things from the itinerary and at last pushed the empty dishes aside to really talk. Erik poured each of them a tiny glass of something that was clear and sweet and had a kick like a mule, and settled in to tell Charles about Genosha.

Most of the world only ever saw Erik's possessiveness of his country, his fearsome rage unleashed up and backed up by his rapidly growing power levels in its defense. Even those who actually paid attention to the addresses he gave in Genosha mainly got an impression of cold sternness. Charles wondered what people would say if they could see Erik just now, animated and full of love. He clearly loved every stone of the island and every drop of the wide sea around it. Much like Madagascar, which it was generally assumed to have broken off from, it had incredible biodiversity, and Erik had shown at least twenty new species to biologists. Some of his first laws had been put in place to protect them, and conservation was the basis of the entire building code and all Genoshan farming methods.

Beyond that, Erik did love his people. Genosha's population was small, but still far too large for him to know everyone. Erik did his best anyway. "I used to greet every new arrival, but now I have to limit it to those seeking asylum or recovering from abuse. Still, we're a welcoming community. People form neighborhoods based on either nationality or power type, from what I've seen, besides the obvious bonds of friends and family." He smiled. "You might like to visit the Hive some night, actually."

"The Hive?"

"It's not as creepy as it sounds, but a close-knit pack of telepaths living together does seem to share a mind." The Hive apparently had dreamstory contests and a guessing game based on figuring out whose eyes one was looking through at the moment and would be absolutely ecstatic to see him. Charles laughed, and said that of course he wouldn't disappoint his fans.

"Besides, you know I've always been fascinated by my own kind."

"I doubt any are as strong as you, but some of them are quite good. And some of them are pregnant with more, that might grow stronger."

"You really should let researchers in here, Erik. Don't growl. Only a few at a time, carefully supervised by your own people."

"I just feel that information that could destroy us should remain in our own hands."

Charles leaned across the table and took both Erik's hands, pressing them reassuringly. "Erik, you can't keep all of us under your wings. That information would be invaluable to mutants all over the world."

"I wish I could, you know."

He squeezed Erik's hands again, so familiar and warm in his own. "I know."


	23. Surveillance

"What have you got for me, Clint?"

Genosha had incredibly comfortable trees, and Clint held a scope without a gun, watching Magneto's window. "Two guys having dinner, Cap. Perfectly G-rated, but intimate."

"I suppose that's a good sign." He sounded troubled because he was, and Clint had to admit a slight pang on Steve's behalf. He wasn't cut out for intelligence work.

"It is. Body language looks pretty promising, and hey, now they're holding hands."

"...I really don't feel right about this."

"Of course you don't, Cap. You're a good person."

"Which I guess is why Tony put me on this."

"Of course it is. He knows you'll call me off if it gets too embarrassing for Charles."

"...I guess I'm honored." He sighed.

"Hell, I'm doing the watching because Tony doesn't trust Tasha to."

"Really?"

"Not like she'd be bad at it, more like she might not let you call her off."

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Why? I know she would."

"How long have you two been together?"

There was a long pause. "We're not. Hey, drinks have been poured, that's a good sign."

"Are you sure?"

"He's old school. A drink is like a little mini-covenant or something."

"Ah, now they've remembered they're supposed to be broken up. That's right, boys, sit back. Get right back to sipping from your gay little glasses..."

"You know, I am never gonna get used to how that one's changed."

"Gay? Well, what'd you say? They're like goddamn thimbles."

"Well, I'd just say 'very small,' unless I was a jerk like you and went with 'sissy.'"

"It's powerful stuff, it's not like it doesn't make sense to take it out of something so small... Oh, and don't worry, they're still just talking."

"Don't knock conversation, it's better than they've been doing."

"Amen to that." He was silent again for a long while. "Holy crap, are they gonna kiss? I can never tell with these guys."

"I spent most of the archive footage wondering about that. And covering my ears."

"...All that squealing was Thor?!"

"I can't even hit that pitch, Barton."

"Not without scrote trauma, anyway."

"As you say. Now report."

"Just more of the same after all, Cap."

"I really do hope they can work it out. And not just to make Thor settle down."

"Well, I can't vouch for Charles, but Erik hasn't come within fifty fucking miles of getting over him."

"Of course he hasn't." Tony's voice crackled in their ears. "That's my cousin, dammit."

"Your family loyalty is touching. What was the point of having me here if you were gonna listen in anyway?"

"Believe me, I'm only here for a minute. Anything good?"

"Hand holding and conversation and you can do your own damn spying, Tony."

"Oh no I can't. Just wanted to make sure I didn't have to fly over there. Keep up the good work, kids." He disconnected and Clint called him something moderately inventive.

"That may be true, but we do have a mission here."

"Not to jinx it, but--"

"Don't even finish that sentence."

"You're right, forget I said anything."

There was another long silence, and Steve sipped water and shaded the Genoshan rainbow ring in monochrome. "Barton?"

"I can't tell if they're in the process of fucking it up or not, hang on."


	24. Surveillance II

"Well?"

"Actually, they're-- is there anything in Lenscherr's file about Argentine tango?"

"...Not that I can see."

"Well, add something, then. He's pretty good."

"They're seriously dancing?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die, Cap."

"I guess that's good."

"Real good. Who would've thought Xavier could dip like that?"

"Is that son of a bitch getting fresh with my cousin?"

"Tony, you can monitor Clint your damn self."

"Oh no, I can't. But what's happening now? Right now, unless it's gross."

"They're just dancing, Jesus. Well, wait. Maybe... Nope, nevermind. Thought they were gonna kiss. They always seem like they're about to and never do, what the hell."

"Y'know, I could say the same about you and a certain hard-nosed little redhead of our mutual acquaintance."

"Really? Your ex likes me?"

"Very funny, dickhead."

"Guys!"

"No changes, Cap."

"Steve!"

"Thor, you're not supposed to be in here!"

"What do you monitor in such seclusion?"

"Dammit, keep that viking voyeur off the line!"

"Hey, Thor! I'm spying on your OTP right now!"

"Clint, you bastard!"

"I cannot approve, but if it is going forward anyway, I demand details!"

"Well, they're tangoing but it's stayed vertical so far. Lenscherr's leading, and they've got this really intense eye contact going on. I'm surprised Xavier's keeping up so well.

Thor's girlish, dreamy sigh united everyone else in being disturbed. "I know they'll make it work this time. I just know it."

There was something so sweet and plaintive in the way he said it that Steve really had no choice but to put an arm around those massive shoulders. "Sure they will, Thor." He was glad the others weren't around to see Thor press a bristly kiss to his cheek.

"I will leave you to your task. Do not hesitate to call me if I can render assistance."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Thor."

"He has a crush on you."

"He has a crush on his estranged adopted brother, Clint."

"Facts is facts, Rogers. Hey are they... damn! What is that, the fifth false alarm? I'm not even gay and I'm desperate to see these dumb bastards just kiss already."

"Everyone's a little gay."

"I am never gonna get used to that!"

"Remind me to show you The Forty-Year-Old Virgin, Cap."

"Along with Star Wars and Akira and all that other junk? I don't see how I'm supposed to keep it any of it straight."

"In case you cared, it looks like Cousin Charles is being escorted back to his own room."

"Good. You can totally shoot Mags if he tries anything funny."

"No I can't, don't be dumb. The most I can promise you is an alarm arrow if things look really dire."

"That'll have to do, I guess." Tony vanished again, and Steve and Clint sat in blessed silence for a while.

Charles leaned on Erik, still a little breathless, laughing. "We try so hard to be professional, and here we are."

"We're just incorrigible degenerates, Charles. That's all there is to it."

"How is this stuff for hangovers?"

"If you drink the glass of water I'll be getting you in a minute, you should wake up reasonably clear."

"Excellent."

"I have missed you, Charles."

"I know. I c'n feel it. I'm glad I can feel it. By the way."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." He clumsily hugged Erik, halfway over the threshold. "It's lonely when you wear the helmet."

"I'm halfway around the world from you, Charles."

"And I'll jack into Cerebro and just feel a cold spot where you should be. 'S lonely."

He sighed. "You've always been so hard to refuse, Charles."

"I have?"

"Yes." He guided Charles to bed and got him his water, feeling those blue eyes on him. "Comfortable?" He asked at last.

"Yes."

"Good night, Charles."

"Good night, Erik."


	25. Homeland

Charles woke up clear as promised, and immediately called home. He spent the first twenty minutes or so of his day soothing Alex and nodding his thanks when Azazel flickered in and out with a breakfast tray. Finally able to hang up and investigate, he found smooth rice gruel, some sort of fruit syrup in its own little pitcher, crisp seaweed, and and a soft-boiled egg that was the wrong shape to have come from a chicken. Touchingly, there was also a pot of Earl Grey and even some rare and precious milk to put in it.

After Charles had devoured everything on the tray and gotten dressed, there was a knock at the door. His visitor turned out to be his handler for the duration, a lovely young woman with corner-to-corner blue eyes that stood out sharply against copper skin. Her name was Anna Lamebull and she complimented him on the beauty of his electrical signature before leading him out into an exhausting but productive day. He addressed high school students and answered questions afterward, spoke to the tiny Genoshan press, discussed genetics with the island's scientists, strategy with its teachers, and telepathic ethics with its law enforcement.

Somewhere in the middle there was lunch, and late that afternoon, he visited the Hive. It was an overwhelming and overwhelmingly beautiful experience. He listened to astral singing and sat in on a dreamstory, a silent circle of minds filling with beautiful images and inscrutable narrative. He played a simple memory-sharing game with the children and won two rounds of Whose Eyes? before he finally had to leave, mentally sharing a fond farewell with everyone in the compound, including the watery little sparks of the unborn.

Anna was waiting for him outside, and smiled. "There you are."

"I know I took a bit longer than I said I would, and I apologize."

"Don't you dare, Erik wanted you to."

"Is that so?"

She chuckled. "It is. And I'm to report back on your physical and emotional state, of course."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course. Where is he now? I want to go pester him."

Anna grinned and flipped through the papers she was carrying. "Greeting new arrivals, it looks like."

"...Would it be utterly against protocol for us to poke our heads in?"

"Not at all, Professor."

There was no official Human Quarter because Erik wouldn't hear of it, but there was a neighborhood of that unofficial name near the harbor. Genosha's human populace were all related by blood or the closest of emotional ties to mutants, and Charles's throat knotted up thinking of precisely why Erik was so deeply against separating families. Anna led the way through the narrow and crooked streets, explaining that by her watch, Erik should be just leaving his current appointment. Charles nodded, feeling around for him with a lack of self-consciousness born of hours in the Hive, and pointed out the little house among so many so much like it where Erik was.

"That is #16, Homeland. The first streets were named by some of the most tempest-tossed, and it shows."

"I see. So it's all right if I just go along and knock?"

"Perfectly. I'll wait here. There's a lady who sells cooling drinks out of her kitchen."

"I'll have to try one when I get back." He turned and picked his way through a few little alleys and a backyard full of sleepy chickens, at last knocking on the door of newly-occupied residence. A shy young man with a gentle face answered the door, and Charles could feel that he had been terrified for far too long. "Hello, I'm Charles Xavier."

He smiled, sudden and dazzling. "Ah, you are here for Mr. Lenscherr. He said you might be."

"He does know me so well." Charles smiled and stepped inside.

Amara and Nwakaego were a young Igbo couple who had run from Nigeria when their children had awakened very old and long-dormant superstitions about multiple births and witchcraft. "My mother-in-law was always so modern," Amara said, shaking her head. Charles sighed, and told them about his sister having to run from a woman in New York who had seen her real form and tried to kill the "demon" with a kitchen knife.

"She's a remarkably beautiful and intelligent young woman," Erik added, "and I'm sure little Taiwo will be too." He cooed at the tiny green baby tucked into the crook of his elbow, and Amara smiled, the knots of anxiety everywhere in her body gradually releasing. She held two more of her children in her arms, one bright red, the other blue, and the last was a little orange bundle asleep in her lap. Other than Kehinde's blue skin sizzling with sparks every now and then, no one was sure what the children could do. But Erik could promise an education and as much safety from anti-mutant prejudice as anyone could, and Charles could feel the glow it gave him to be able to reassure and help these people and so many others like them.

They walked out arm in arm and picked up Anna on their way back to what Charles really couldn't help but think of as HQ, sipping a blend of fruit juices over shaved ice manufactured from the humidity in the air.


	26. Surf

"So, what am I doing tomorrow?"

"Less." Anna smiled at him, and Charles grinned back.

"Good. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"At least you're not going moonbeam blonde like our fearless leader."

"This is why I don't quite understand why people are so afraid of me, Charles. Look at the insolence I put up with."

"Well, dumping men out of tanks with a snarl and a flick of your wrist probably has something to do with it."

Erik coughed delicately, looking away. "They irritated me."

Charles laughed. "You should let some footage of you doing something besides physically defending this place leak. Don't make that face, you know I'm right."

"Perhaps. I hate the media."

"I know. You look like you just took a gulp of sour milk."

"I certainly feel as though I have whenever I watch the bastards try their best to emasculate you."

"Oh, Erik..."

"The New Yorker did a feature that described him as 'docile.' I was upset."

Charles grimaced. "Ugh, that old thing. I cringe every time I think of it."

"As well you should. It was partially his own fault for being so disgustingly nice."

"I'm going to remind you you said that the next time you're ranting about not being Victor Von Doom," Anna said, noting it on her clipboard.

"I am not Victor Von Doom and Charles is too nice for his own good!"

Charles just threw back his head and laughed.

As promised, the next day was less scheduled. So much less that Charles found himself free at midday. It was hotter than the day before, and he hobbled carefully on his cane, going to the patch of beach just over a little rise from the compound which may as well have had 'Magneto's Thinking Spot, Trespassers Will Be Shot' posted. It was incredibly peaceful, and the coolness and salinity of the water brought his repair back to optimum. He sighed and made a few laps with the same easy speed he brought to running. He hadn't actually packed swim trunks or anything, and became acutely aware of how little difference leaving his boxers on had made when Erik approached the beach. He was simmering with annoyance, grumbling inwardly in a way so familiar and loveable that Charles grinned, swimming for shore.

"What's wrong, Erik?"

"...Much less, now." He settled himself on a big rock that might as well have been put there for the purpose, pulling off his shoes and socks and smiling slightly as Charles knelt in the surf to watch him.

"That's good to know."

"What's the male equivalent of a nymph, Charles?"

"A faun, as I recall."

"That's what you look like, then."

He smiled. "I hope it suits me."

"Everything does, Charles. Surely you know that by now."

"My blushes, Erik."

"I was just going to roll up my cuffs and potter about on the tideline like the white-haired old man I am, but," he paused, hauling off his shirt, "with a marine faun frolicking in the surf..."

"I am not frolicking," Charles said severely, and did his best not to ogle Erik as he slithered out of his trousers and neatly folded everything, piling it on the rock. He was as lean as ever but less pale, with no new scars that Charles could see. "Glad to see you're keeping well."

"Glad to hear it." He waded into the surf, then crouched and vanished for a while, only to pop up behind Charles. "I bet you'd be surprised if you weren't a telepath."

"Absolutely." He turned to face Erik, who was as sleek as a seal and whose eyes looked almost silver. He couldn't help but think of their first meeting in a far colder sea. _It's good to see you so much calmer, my friend._

 _It's good to be calmer. And to see you again._ There was so much restraint on that last thought, doors and shutters and chains and locks without any keys, all barricading feelings Erik refused to examine.

_You know you're safe with me, Erik. I respect few things more than your privacy._

_I've never worn the helmet because I don't trust you, Charles._

"So much for not getting personal," Charles murmured, a faint, wry smile on his lips.

"Really, have we ever been anything else?"


	27. Shield

They swam races against each other and Erik let Charles ride along in his mind to show him an underwater cave, since he could hold his breath long enough to get there. Rocking on the warm Genoshan surf, Charles wondered if it was even possible to be anything but content under the circumstances.

"It's good you've settled in such a restful place, Erik."

"Ha. You should see the spring storms."

"I'd be happy to come back for them," Charles murmured.

"You know I would welcome you."

"...I do now."

"...I missed you the moment I left. I thought you knew that."

"I had hoped, Erik." He was about to say something else, and did his best not to snarl at Emma's sudden mental presence. Erik did snarl.

_Yes?_

_Sorry to interrupt, sugar, but you said you wanted to know if France called you back, and they did._

Charles could feel how much Erik hated the way Emma's mind touched his, gentle and insinuating like an unwanted hand in his back pocket. He could also feel his irritation with the French prime minister and the world in general.

I'll back soon. Thank you.

 _Always._ There was a flash of cruel amusement with her last transmission, and Charles shook his head, and followed Erik onto the beach.

"She is why I wear the helmet, Charles."

"Let me help you." It reminded him so much of when they first met, both of them soaking wet and Erik trying to hide his wounds like a wild animal while Charles reached out to him. "You have shielding of your own, but not enough against a mind like hers." Erik nodded, pale eyes wary as he bent his head forward for Charles to touch his temples, concentrating deeply. It was all Charles could do not to whimper, overwhelmed at having this depth of contact with Erik again. His mind was more beautiful than ever, wounds in its metallic substance partially burnished out by his time in Genosha. Charles resisted the urge to just rub his mind against that sleekness like a cat, and got to work building shields against that kind of thing. Erik blinked wide eyes at him when he pulled away. "It's keyed to this image." Charles projected a metal shutter, and showed Erik how to raise and lower it, to let people in when he needed to.

"...Thank you." Something intensely tender flickered in his eyes, and then he was stripping off his briefs and wringing them out, tucking them into his trouser pocket as he got dressed again. Charles swallowed hard, reminding himself that he'd seen everything before and not to be ridiculous. Erik put his shoes back on, and looked up from tying them. "Join me for dinner if I don't see you before then?"

"Absolutely."

He smiled slightly, and got up, making his way back to the compound. Charles watched him vanish into the jungle and sighed, stretching out on the rock because it felt nice and heat be damned. He dozed for a few minutes, but thankfully woke up before he could burn. He swam another few laps and then limped back the way he had come. There was enough shade for him to be walking normally by halfway back. He wondered again if he should let Tony upgrade the repair, the new ones far less temperature-sensitive, but the thought of any more surgery made him shudder as much as it always did. There had been so many in the beginning, and it had all hurt so damn much that on the last one he had told Tony to just put the bloody thing in and they'd see how it worked out. And Raven had sat by his bed the whole time. Always there, through pain and painkiller side effects.

"Charles?"

"...I was just thinking about you." He turned to Raven, who had quietly melted out of the shadows.

"Sorry, I've been busy." She fell into step beside him, telling him all about agricultural planning on the north coast. She looked good, healthy and sharp and full of life, and he told her so. Raven laughed, and hugged him, looking searchingly into his eyes as she pulled away. "How have you been?"

"Erik and I have been acting like adults."

"I'll believe that when I see it. But you look good too, brother, and it's always good to see you." She linked her arm with his and walked him back, waiting for him to bathe the salt off and put on fresh clothes before leading him on her own tour of the area.


	28. Shebeen

Where Erik had done his best to show Genosha as a decent place to live and a haven for mutants, Raven wanted to show Charles the shebeens and her friend's weed garden just for the sheer joy of it being legal under Genoshan law. Sitting in the warm dirt with the spicy, resinous bushes forming a forest overhead, he was amused and touched to see her so lively, so sure of herself and her place in the world. Her time with Erik had done her immeasurable good, she in turn had been instrumental in getting Genosha off the ground. She mentioned Angel too, whose wing had grown back along with some of her faith in humanity.

"It helps that people only stare here because she's hot."

He smiled sadly. "That's good."

"Emma stares."

"And here I thought she was immune."

Raven grinned. "Not even a little. I think it's sort of sweet."

"Well, they do have certain commonalities..."

"You're such an old man, Charles."

"I know."

"God, I've missed you so much." She hugged him tightly for a long moment, then pulled away, smiling self-consciously. "Come on." She helped him up, and took him around a few of her favorite neighborhoods. Things were quiet but beginning to come alive again, the hottest part of the day fading. "We'll come back after dinner, but for now we'll just duck in here..." She pulled him into a little, low building that had the internationally recognizable aura of a pub. A girl with purple skin and tentacles anchored to her upper back was tending the bar, and smiled with sharp teeth when they came in. Charles stared for a long moment, recalling himself when she fidgeted, eyes like a cuttlefish's shifting to the side.

"Terribly sorry, but you. are. _stunning_." And she was, with delicate features and a long, slender neck that made him think of the bust of Nefertiti.

"...Holy shit, you're Charles Xavier."

"Guilty as charged, love." He settled himself onto a stool, grinning.

"Told you I'd bring him when he came."

"I thought you were bullshitting me. What'll you have?" She gestured to her rack of imports and local product, and Raven smiled.

"Two Beasts, please."

The barmaid grinned, tentacles flying into action to snatch up all the ingredients for Raven's apparently complex order. "Beasts?" Charles murmured.

"When you get back, you can tell Hank we've got a drink named after him."

The finished cocktail was, appropriately enough, both blue and sweet. In a subtle way, that wasn't too cloying for the heat. Charles complimented the barmaid on it, and she just grinned. "Know why else it's called the Beast?"

"Raven, are you trying to get me wasted?"

"Maybe a little."

"I'll have you know that I've completely fallen out of training, and whatever your metabolism is like, my liver knows precisely how old we are." He took a long swig, savoring the cool way it went down, in contrast to the spreading warmth after it had arrived.

They ended up being late for dinner, Azazel appearing in the middle of an impromptu symposium on politics, genetics, and the intersection of the two. Charles was seated on one of the tables, chin cupped in his hand as he listened to a pretty Cambodian girl describe the onset of her photokinesis. Her English wasn't too good, but she was animated and engaged, punctuating her speech with expressive gestures as her Liberian boyfriend helped her over the biggest stumbling blocks. Everyone jumped a little at the cracking sound of Azazel's arrival, and looked around.

"H'lo! Are we late?"

"Just starting to be."

They took their leave of everyone and took Azazel's arms, blinking away to reappear in Erik's room.

"Sorry we're late, love."

"Don't worry about it." Erik smiled slightly, thanking Azazel for fetching them and kissing Raven on the cheek, asking about her project. She was off again in an instant, and even mostly drunk, Charles watched Azazel watch her glowing face, and supposed that the two of them would have to have a serious conversation before he left.


	29. Family

Dinner passed in surprising domesticity. Raven loved her adopted homeland as much or more than Erik did, and the two of them glowed as they talked about how to maximize food production and regulate commerce without strangling it. Charles smiled a little sadly, realizing that he actually had failed Raven. He hadn't given his poor sister anything to do, when that was what she needed above all else.

The remains of dessert melting in front of them, Erik checked his schedule and winced, saying that he would need his sleep and wishing them all a good night. He and Charles shared a rueful smile, and then Raven was dragging her brother out again. Charles had supposed that a Genoshan pub-crawl would be interesting, and was not proven wrong. He and Raven didn't return to the compound until the sun was on its way up. They were both drunk, Charles's clothes in complete disarray and both of them wearing sucker marks from overfriendly tentacles.

"I have missed you, Charles," Raven said softly, half-carrying him to his room. The night was cool, so at least he wasn't drunk and de-efferated at the same time, but he still glad for the support.

"I've missed you lots. Lots 'n' lots, Raven."

She laughed softly, and hugged him. "I'm so sorry for the way we left you."

"I know. You tol' me." He sighed, breathing in her safe, familiar scent. "Erik told me."

"Probably didn't tell you what a mess he was after." She dumped Charles onto his bed and sat down near his feet, prying his shoes off.

"Nnnope."

"Of course." She yawned, dropping the shoes to the floor. "But trust me. Totally fucked up."

"Mm. I'm sorry, Raven."

"For what?"

"Not giving you anything to do. Making you hide."

She smiled sadly, and kissed his forehead. "If you can forgive me I can certainly forgive you."

He smiled back, and dropped off easily, the door to the garden letting in the scent of flowers. It followed him into his dreams, and then into someone else's entirely. This had happened before, with Erik close by and pulling Charles into charnel worlds of desolation and misery, but even asleep he knew it wasn't Erik's mind. There was no metallic tang to it, no slick slide or buzzing magnetic force. This mind was... fascinating. Like old cracked leather worn smooth by use, like feathers, like wind. The nightmare that gripped it tasted like memory, and like frost on Charles's tongue. A dream of calm certainty and utter wrongness, the dreamer struggling to pull himself out of it. Without really thinking about it at all, Charles tugged the dreamer into his own mind, where there was a sunlit English garden, and no nightmares in sight.

"Well." He removed the tophat he was suddenly wearing, brushing some unmelting snow off of it. "Terribly sorry to do that without your express permission, but that was really dreadful."

He sighed, rubbing his face. "I know. What the hell are we wearing?"

"Tophat and tails. I guess I am an old man after all." He studied his guest. "You're Hawkeye, aren't you?"

"Guilty as charged."

"What are you doing close enough for us to connect like this? My range doesn't even reach the coast most of the time."

"...Uh, classified?"

And communication was really too easy in dreams. "You're here to spy on us? Because Thor ships us?"

"...Basically." He grimaced. Charles threw back his head and laughed. "You poor thing!"

"It's not so bad. The trees are comfortable here and SHIELD finally actually found field rations that hold up in this kind of humidity." He settled into one of the lazy-backed wicker chairs that were of course available. Charles took the other.

"So, are we gonna have a tea party?"

"Only if you want to."

"I've never had a lucid dream before. It's weird."

"Telepathy seems to have some connection to the ability. I've never met one of us that couldn't do it."

"And you're sharing the perks with me?"

"...Oh god. Oh god, I am so sorry, after your experiences of you'd--aarrgh." He sank down in the chair, covering his face with his hat.

"Relax, you haven't tried to get me to do anything. So if you are controlling me it's just to keep me from freaking out, which, let's face it, I would do if I could."

"You're remarkably philosophical about this," Charles told him, muffled.

"Besides, I'm curious about this lucid dreaming stuff. Since I know I'm dreaming, can I warp reality with my mind?"

Charles had to smile, peeking over the hat. "Try it."

Clint frowned, and concentrated for a moment, his clothes changing into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, tophat morphing into a baseball cap. "Awesome."

The shirt was faded, and Charles squinted to read it. "Does that actually say, 'Party Naked'?"

"Most comfortable shirt I ever owned, long gone." He stretched, looking around. "Any chance we can get some fine bitches up in here?"


	30. Dreamtime

Clint's vision was well within his powers. He was imaginative, with an excellent memory and an inhuman eye for detail. Soon the garden was full of gorgeous women, every type of beauty Clint could think of. Glorious tall, thin, ebony women with beaded hair, tiny blondes with endless eyes, thick brown girls and ghostly ginger ones. Trim athletes and plush dreamers, a few that could have been boys except for that perfect and indefinable something, and leggy types that reminded Charles of Pepper. They wandered the paths, some of them arm in arm, and plucked flowers to put in their hair and climbed trees, some settling in groups on the grass to talk and others running spontaneous footraces, distant splashing telling them that some had found the stream that was always present when Charles dreamed this place. Clint smiled slightly, settling back. "Now that's scenery."

Charles smiled, setting his hat on the table and watching a dainty dark brown girl with huge golden eyes climb into a tree as if she were its dryad. "You do have excellent taste, Clint. I had a brief fear of naked harems, but this is all quite nice."

"Well, it kind of feels like they really exist, and I don't invite a girl over to get naked on demand unless we're very good friends or she's a stripper." Light laughter rippled to them on the wind, and a wave of wistful sadness passed over Clint.

"So there's this girl," Charles prompted, and Clint groaned.

"You know, I'm a trained field operative. This is really embarrassing."

"Love is nothing to be ashamed of."

"Cracking like this sure as hell is."

"This isn't an interrogation, Clint."

"Yes it is, just a well-conducted one. On a subject maybe a lot ready to spill to someone who hasn't known him and the girl for over a decade."

"That could well have something to do with it."

"Well. It's Widow, of course. Been sitting on it for years since I'd never know if she was playing me or not, but tracking you and Erik has kinda brought it to the forefront again."

"I can see how it would. They're beautiful, deadly, and damaged, after all."

"She's all about the horrible shit she's done, but she was just a kid when they started with her. They gave her false memories, for fuck's sake. Drugs and electroshock." His hands clenched into fists. "She didn't even think of her own body as hers. Some FBI son of a bitch ordered her to suck him off and she was on her knees before I hit him. With Phil's desk. Phil was great about it." He smiled slightly, then sighed. "She's come a long way, but I'm not sure she would know if she was playing me."

Charles patted Clint's shoulder. "If she ever feels ready for it, I could try to help her with some of that."

Clint studied him for a long moment, then nodded. They sat in silence for a while, before eventually willing some tea into existence and then flying their separate ways. Clint woke up in his tree, feeling deeply embarrassed, and Charles woke up much later and hungover. He called home, and Alex snatched the phone up on the first ring.

"Charles?"

"Alex, what have I told you about panicking? I slept late."

"...You sound bad, should we come get you?"

"I sound bad because I spent the night reconnecting with my sister, and there was a lot of drinking involved."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Never mind, I do understand your concern." He rubbed his face, feeling nauseated, a low, miserable headache beginning at the back of his head and insidiously radiating. "I'm going to sleep a bit longer, all right?"

"Okay." Alex still sounded dubious, but let Charles hang up. He buried his head under the pillow, groaning softly. He dozed for a while, and swam up to full consciousness to realize that his headache was not entirely his own. Nearby, Erik was suffering, his tension knotting together with Charles's hangover.

"Ugh." He was silent for a long while after this declaration of the state of things, and then sat up. After that it was easier, staggering to the bathroom to drink what felt like gallons of water and take a cold shower. That done, he found some clothes and went in search of Erik.


	31. Meetings with Traditional Women

Erik was in the main conference room, head throbbing and heart heavy. When Charles poked his head through the door, Erik looked like he had been beaten, head resting exhausted on his arms.

Charles cleared his throat, and Erik moaned, "Oh god, go away!" without looking up.

"Erik, what's wrong? Your headache is giving me a headache." He wandered in, rubbing his eyes. "Or, well, more of one."

Erik looked up. "I thought you were the Traditional Women's Caucus, come for another piece of me."

"I take it they were just here?" There were pitchers of ice water, and Charles poured them each a glass, pressing his to his forehead as he sat beside Erik.

"In force."

"Their agenda?"

"Female circumcision. It's horrible, we just go back and forth because I can't allow it in good conscience, and they think their daughters won't be women otherwise. We sit here and haggle over the genitals of little girls, as if it were meat by the pound. How much to cut, where to cut..." He groaned, thumping his head on the table. "And just as I'm in the middle of speaking against it to have this old Somali lady who could be my grandmother point out that I was cut, and far too young for informed consent."

Charles smiled sadly. "And of course it doesn't help that you're a white man trying to tell a bunch of Africans what to do. That always works out so well."

Erik laughed, and clutched his head. "Please, spare me. You're right, of course, and I know you're right, and they know the score too. The only thing we've really hammered out so far is that infibulation will be allowed on Genosha over my dead body."

Charles sighed, leaning on him. "It just kills you, doesn't it? I can't really feel through your shield, but I know you."

"You do. And it does."

They sat there for a while, sipping cold water and and discussing education and outreach strategies and what Erik had been told about his own bris. At last Erik got up and found some painkillers, swallowing them and leaning against the wall. "It's just so exhausting, but I can't give in. So many of them die, Charles. Just from the bleeding and shock. Then the infections, then the blockages and maternal deaths... I can't. I can't just leave it, not in a country it was my dream to build."

"Of course you can't, Erik." He went to him and put a hand on his shoulder. The two of them stood in silence for a long time, before Anna popped up again.

"Recovered?" She asked from the doorway.

"Essentially," Erik answered, rubbing his hands over his face. "What now?"

"It's three o'clock and Thursday, you tell me."

"Oh." He coughed, seeming unaccountably embarrassed.

"Oh?"

"...People kept telling me to get therapy until it sunk in."

"Obnoxious people who favor cardigans?"

"A few, perhaps." He smiled slightly, and let Anna lead him away, giving him something to sign as he walked, pale eyes skimming over it despite having drafted it himself. Just to be sure. Charles smiled sadly, and wandered down toward the kitchen in search of food. There was a pale, blonde woman moving through food preparation like a ghost, a baby securely settled on her back. She radiated anxiety, and jumped when Charles cleared his throat. It gave him a pang to see that one eye was swollen almost shut.

"Are you all right?" He asked, coming a few steps closer but not making any sudden movements. She turned out to only have a little English, a new arrival from France. After getting over some of her jitters, she made brunch for Charles and a snack for herself, her tiny son still asleep. She was from Orleans, and having visited the city and enjoyed it, Charles was able to talk with her about it. She had an attack of furious shyness when she realized who Charles was, but the baby woke up and provided a welcome distraction. His eyes were like Anna's, but red, and he cooed and accepted one of Charles's fingertips to chew on before fussing for proper food. Charles took his leave so his new acquaintance could breastfeed in private, and jumped when Azazel appeared beside him.

"Professor."

"Azazel." He nodded.

"It seems that we should talk."

"We probably should. Care for a walk in the gardens?"

Azazel did, and even consented to walk there through the cool halls, conceding that the suddenness of teleportation was in no way congenial to the hungover. They didn't say much until they were out in the shade of the trees, Azazel stopping to breathe in the scent of a bloom that matched the color of his skin.


	32. Therapy

Erik hadn't actually meant ever to meet with Dr. Chandrakanta Singh in any professional capacity, but standing there with her single bag, not one iron-grey hair out of place despite an airline flight from Kolkata to Mogadishu and from there into Genosha with a load of cargo, she had seemed to look not through, but into him. And incredibly, to like what she saw. It had been the very beginning, less a country and more a club, and Erik had been there to meet her as a new brother in arms. Somehow, during the walk up to her temporary quarters, she had convinced him that he might require her services at some future date. Much later, when there had been room and time enough to think, actual long dark nights staring at the ceiling with no revenge fantasies to project onto it to soothe him down, Erik had taken her up on it.

Today Dr. Singh was wrapped in a yellow sari that always sort of cheered Erik up, regardless of circumstances. She sat behind her desk in her usual unflappable serenity, eyes bright behind her round glasses. "You feel much better than I was expecting, Erik."

He shrugged. "I spoke with an old friend."

She narrowed her eyes at him as if to say as if I don't know who you mean, but let it lie, coming around the desk and settling into her armchair. There was another that Erik always used. He often felt ridiculous about their sessions, because almost all Dr. Singh did was listen. Of course, any time he got impatient or pointed that out, she would just laugh and ask him if there was any other time and place that he actually talked about his feelings for an hour and honestly attempted to sort them out. He hadn't mentioned it since. He told her about Charles, about his presence and how it helped, and about the building of the shield.

"Let's have a look at it," she said, and Erik went and knelt by her chair. She rested warm, dry hands on his head, sharing her empathic perception with him. It was a beautiful and subtle mutation, superbly controlled. He could feel her delight at the beauty of what Charles had made, but it wasn't overwhelming. She showed him the shimmering, prismatic white light of an open crown chakra, and the way it wrapped around his mind. When he opened his eyes, she was beaming down at him. "You should have let him do that years ago, Erik."

"...I should have?"

"Yes! Your subtle body is in better shape than I've ever seen it." Raised Hindu, chakras were her preferred model. They had discussed the effect of culture on mutation one day, realizing that if Erik had possessed the same gift he would have probably interpreted it in terms of Kabbalah.

"How remarkable."

She made a noise of fond irritation at him, and then glanced up at the clock. "We're about to run over, off with you."

"Of course." He grinned at her and headed out. The four o'clock was a little girl from Botswana who was slowly starting to speak again, and Erik stopped to have a conversation with her and her mother that mostly consisted of smiles, using his powers to make the animal charms on the girl's necklace dance, which always made her laugh.

"I hate to be a nag-" Charles murmured, lurking in the corridor beyond.

"No you don't," Erik growled, and Charles laughed, taking his arm.

"I can see how it would seem that way. But you should let people see you doing things like that."

"North Korea tries to project a cuddly image, Charles. Who's to say my godlike presence isn't her reward for turning her parents in as enemies of the state?"

"Anyone who can see how much she looks like her mother, for a start."

"Fine, just her father, then."

"Erik, you do know that pessimism is bad for your heart, don't you?"

"Bah. Humbug!"


	33. Tony Ships It

"So," Erik asked over a late lunch of (of course) fish and seaweed soup, with baked rice crackers and some kind of strange fruit compote, "what were you doing while I poured my poor heart out to Dr. Singh?"

"Oh, I was threatening your chauffeur."

"Charles, you wound me. You think I haven't noticed his crush on Raven? He already knows I'll geld him if he hurts her in any way."

Charles laughed softly, patting Erik's hand. "I know, but it's my brotherly prerogative."

"Well. What did he say?"

"That his intentions are entirely honorable and that he's pretty sure she doesn't like him anyway."

"Hmph. I told him he shouldn't expect to get anywhere with a girl who's watched him murder people." He smiled, the expression full of some of the darkest humor Charles had ever seen. "Even I knew better than that."

"Well, there was that barbed wire in Russia."

"Still. I spared them."

"I did always know you were dangerous, Erik."

"You just didn't care?"

"...We are utter crap at this not getting personal thing, my friend."

"God, I know."

"Well, I'm leaving in four days, how much trouble can we get into?"

They both looked at each other for a long moment, and then burst out laughing.

Clint yawned. "I'm just saying I think they're doing all right. And Xavier knows I'm here now, so I don't see how much more good I can possibly do."

"True. You might as well come on in."

"Besides, I have to make sure you bastards have been looking after Phil."

Steve chuckled fondly. "We have, but come in and see for yourself."

Clint vowed that he would go and see for himself, as soon as he was over the worst of the jetlag. It was one of his least favorite things about being a supersexy superspy, the constant travel across time zones. He couldn't appreciate anything that led to him going to bed at three pm, but at least Natasha ordered them each a massive bowl of pho, and he could sit there adding sweet basil and lime juice and telling her all about his surveillance. She smiled fondly, and turned out to have already known firsthand about the tangoing.

"It's just so rare to find a man who can really dance." She sighed, and sipped her broth. "Though you know me, I'm a waltz girl at heart."

He smiled. "Pepper did say something about a Steampunk ball you had expressed an interest in."

"Traitor," Natasha growled.

"Oh, come on. As if the whole flower thing didn't give it away."

She smiled sadly. "I guess so."

Floors away from them, Tony called a council of war. "Okay. So. If we're going to do this Cupid shit for my cousin over my objections anyway, I'd like to advance another motion or nominate another couple or whatever."

Bruce sighed like the long-suffering husband he was. "Yes, dear?"

Steve ran a hand through his hair, smearing some charcoal on his face. "Tony, please get to the point."

"The point is that Clint and Natasha aren't actually a thing and they really need to be before the UST—"

"UET, if you want to be quite correct, Tony."

"Huh?" Steve looked around helplessly. Thor wasn't doing much better.

"What Tony means is that he ships Clint and Natasha as much as Thor does Charles and Erik, and that we will have no peace until we set them up."

"You mean that thing we're all so bad at that we had to ask Coulson for help?"

"…You have a certain pawky humor, Rogers," Bruce murmured.

"He is quite right." Thor shrugs. "Though in this case I could perhaps be of greater assistance."

"Oh?" Bruce studies him.

"I have courted warrior women before, you know. In this world and others."

"I'd love to see your little black book," Tony muttered, getting up and pouring himself a drink.

Steve sighed, and made another note on the yellow legal pad he had started carrying around. Thor just laughed, having been in good humor since Charles's departure for Genosha.


	34. Cinderella

"So, this is what we're doing, Barton. If we have to fucking drag you, okay?"

"Not really, but please don't get all self-reliant and chivalrous and refuse, okay?"

Clint relaxed just a little bit, still tense from being ambushed on his way to get coffee. "Did daddy buy me something expensive?"

"Yep." He proffered two ornate, gilded invitations with (naturally) a motif of gears.

"...Tony--"

"You're not allowed to say you can't take these. Seriously, you and Natasha should at least give it a try. It's getting fucking ridiculous and Coulson's in, so you know it's not just one of my stupid plans."

"Oh."

"It's a dance with the woman you love, don't waste it."

It was of course almost criminal for Steve to bring that up just then, but it helped to make their point. Clint stashed the invitations and took the thing on like a SHIELD mission. The first task was to get his own topcoat and tails, which he insisted on paying for even if Tony did provide the tailor. Coulson turned out to have Natasha's measurements memorized because he knew everything, and helped Pepper find something nice. Natasha could have provided for herself, but Clint wanted to offer her something she had never even thought of wearing on a job, something with no memories attached. It was touching to see him fret over the details, squinting down into some old books about the language of flowers, making lists of blooms and meanings and species names. Steve kept him company and supplied him with coffee and snacks. Thor was busy obsessively refreshing Genoshan tumblrs, occasionally squeeing for Steve to come and see something particularly adorable.

"Doesn't seem fair," Clint said, "you being stuck with both of us."

"You don't squeal and I don't need that much sleep. How's it coming?"

"Well, I'm gonna need to find a moonflower that doesn't look like shit with bird of paradise, but it's comin' along."

Natasha would not have been the Black Widow if she hadn't realized that something was being assembled around her. It made her nervous, but she could feel the insidious way trust had dulled that edge. It was almost certainly something utterly benign, and that certainty made her grind her teeth and sleep with more weaponry than usual. Pepper at last told her that Clint was planning something and had passed the word along because he knew full well that spies hate real surprises. Natasha narrowed her eyes and studied Pepper for a long moment. "You got Tony to get us tickets."

"I merely mentioned it as a thing you might like. You know how much he loves presents."

Natasha slept with fewer weapons after that, but still minutely examined the box her dress came in before cautiously opening it. She had done this many times before, physical beauty and poise enough of a reason to demand yards of silk and ropes of pearls in tribute from a mark, but this… This was from Clint, and she was unprepared for the difference it made. She set aside the card, which politely requested her presence on the evening in question, and raised the dress out of the box, stepping back and letting it fall to its full length. It was a gleaming sheet of emerald silk, and she knew her hair would be like fire against it. More importantly, it was just the cut she favored, backless to offer flawless white skin like a flag of surrender, distracting adversaries and letting her feel the faintest air currents and the most covert gazes. It was more diesel punk than steam, but things had blurred enough for it to be allowable. And it was beautiful, the skirt elaborately gathered without getting in the way of motion, the fabric full of the living beauty of feathers or fur. She wasn't surprised to discover the innumerable hidden pockets, either, and smiled to find one with a tiny note in it from Clint.

_I knew you'd want storage space. –C_

A week after that, Clint was wondering if he was going to throw up, looking into Tony's mirror and fighting to keep from wiping his sweaty palms on his coat. "Is this how you're supposed to feel when you go to pick up your date for prom?"

"So I hear." Tony straightened Clint's cravat and stood back. "Okay, that's as good as we're gonna get it. Take a deep breath, do not throw up, and if you even think of touching this damn thing when I've just got it pinned right I will murder you."

"Gotcha." Clint swallowed hard and collected his bouquet, fidgeting with the tuft of grass wrapped around the viscaria and bird of paradise, hoping the whole mess didn't clash too badly.

"You're gonna do fine." Tony gave him a comforting pat on the back and a set of keys. "If you don't like the ride these go with, feel free to pick something else." He met Clint's stare evenly. "What? I like to help a bro out."


	35. Truce

Natasha had heard other girls (normal girls) talking about how wonderful it was to feel like a princess. She had been a princess in the course of her career and found it a very cold experience, with a lot of knives to dodge and too many rules to follow. This must be what they really mean. To have someone caring send you the perfect dress, and for a car to just appear for you where getting in won't mean certain death or new orders. She supposed it helped too to have a Prince Charming of your very own. Not a real prince, inbred and stiff and distant, but a companion. Someone uniting masculine beauty with decent conversation and still more of that all-important caring. She had learned a little bit about it with SHIELD, close-knit and loyalty-based as the organization was, but it remained a novelty. As did receiving a bouquet she actually wanted and that didn't need to be checked for traps. She checked anyway, of course, and was glad that Clint was the type of prince who would understand. He just leaned on the doorjamb and smiled shyly as she took in the daffodils (chivalry and respect), bird of paradise (fidelity when given to a woman by a man), viscaria (an invitation to dance), green grass (submission), and a few shy moonflowers for dreams of love. She was very careful with it, settling it into a champagne flute to await her return and taking Clint's arm.

As far as Natasha had seen, the conventional princess fantasy generally involved a chauffeur of some kind, a coachman for Cinderella. Natasha liked this version better, where it was just the two of them. Clint had always been a good driver, and by Natasha's standards, not just normal ones. She couldn't help but remember past missions, but only the high points this time. She cuddled into her leather seat and watched Clint's sharp-eyed concentration.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Just remembering."

"Budapest again?"

She chuckled. "No, Hong Kong."

"Which I'm sure you remember better than I do."

"I've never seen anyone drive so well so with that much tranquilizer in his bloodstream."

"It's a talent." He smiled, easing around a truck, exploiting tiny gaps in the flow of traffic.

Another terrible part of being a princess was the sheer conspicuousness, and Natasha was glad to slip in quietly. Maybe they would be recognized and maybe they wouldn't be, but at least they hadn't been announced. Clint smiled at her, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

True to the princess fantasy, everything was wonderful. It was as if there was a spell over the others, making them incapable of seeing Hawkeye and Black Widow. She had danced with Clint before, on a few missions and in a friendly way any time drinking and something by the Clash coincided. This was of course wholly different, with all the grace and precision of his dance instructor cover and all the looseness and fun of their usual anarchic flailing. They sailed around the floor in blissful anonymity, and finally took a champagne and chocolate break. Natasha nibbled the edges of a bonbon and delicately lapped the raspberry filling that welled up, looking over as a woman in white approached them. She was a stunning Hitchcock blonde, wearing a perfectly period ensemble except for the percentage of it that was sheer to the point of transparency.

"I'm glad to see you enjoying yourself, darling," she said to Natasha, sliding into the seat beside her. Natasha assessed her for degree of threat, alarmed to recognize Emma Frost, chief security officer of Genosha. "Relax, I come in peace. After all, Erik would hardly approve of any harm coming to either of you." She has her own glass of champagne, and raises it in a small salute to both of them. "You're welcome for the anonymity, by the way. Though I must say, you two are magnificently trained. I’m hardly having to exert any effort at all."

Clint snorts almost inaudibly. "Thank you, ma'am."

"I didn't expect you to talk so much like your pretty friend. How has he been, by the way?"

"Which one? Last I checked 'the pretty one' was neck and neck between Steve and Thor."

"Oh, Captain Rogers. He's the pretty one, and the one I've met."

Clint grins. "Well, you seem to have flustered him, but he's back on his feed and has even stopped blushing."


	36. Comfort

Steve sighed, curled up on the couch and not really watching the TV coverage of the party (and it was still such a shock, being back where celebrity news was a thing and people bothered to film parties when they got big enough) with the sound off as he sketched. Peggy's face resolved on the paper a few times, of course. He probably never would fully forget it, even when he was an old man instead of just feeling like one. He smiled sadly down at her image, and turned the page.

"Steve!" Thor boomed, bounding into the room. Steve jumped, looking around sharply.

"Y-yes?"

"…You are sad, Captain." His entire demeanor changed, and he came and sat beside Steve, putting an arm around him. "Tell me your sorrows, that they might be even a little lessened."

Steve leaned on him, reminded of how safe he had always felt with Bucky. "It's nothing anyone can do anything about."

"Many griefs are like that, Steve."

He sighed, turning his head a little to feel Thor's inhuman warmth against his cheek. "It's also an old one, I was just reminded of it tonight." He glanced at the screen again, where a reporter was interviewing a girl dressed as some kind of steam-era mechanical girl.

"…Do you pine for our Lady Widow?"

Steve blinked. "What? No. Of course not."

"You do not favor warrior women, my friend?" Thor looked so puzzled that it startled a laugh out of Steve.

"I guess I do, Thor." He sat up a bit and turned the page back. "This is her. From memory."

"Oh," Thor breathed, transfixed, "oh my friend, you have indeed lost much." He hugged Steve tightly, and Steve closed the book and set it aside, leaning into Thor's embrace.

"We never danced together," he said quietly, finding it much easier to talk with his face buried in Thor's t-shirt. "We… we meant to, but we never did." He horrified himself by sniffling, and told Thor all about their date, and his 70 years of icebound tardiness. Thor shocked him by weeping openly at the story, and held him for a long time after both of them were quiet, before getting up and fetching tissues for both of them. Steve had to admit he felt a little better. He hadn't sobbed like Thor, but the tears he had shed seemed to have eased some kind of pressure.

"Thanks, Thor," he said at last.

"Of course, my friend."

Steve smiled. "I really wasn't sure about you at first, but god or man, you're a good one."

"High praise from my superior. Thank you, Captain."

Steve chuckled, and glanced away, rubbing shyly at the back of his neck. "It did help a little, though. Talking it out some."

"It often does. I talked to Erik Selvig a great deal when Jane was no longer mine."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you were still…"

Thor shook his head. "No. First there was too much distance, then too much warfare, and now there's someone else, though Jane doesn't seem to know it yet."

"Then how do you know?"

"I am a god of fertility as well as thunder." He shrugged. "I can feel when a fruitful union is brewing."

"…So they'd have beautiful children?"

"Nay, I think the other is a woman."

"But you said a fruitful union."

"A union can bear ideas and beauty as well as children. I can taste the distant shape of the things she will build with this woman when I am nearby. I wish them well, no matter how I miss being with Jane."

Steve nodded, and tentatively put an arm around Thor, blushing as he was engulfed again. "Anything is easier to bear with your kindness," Thor murmured, voice rumbling low in his chest. Steve did his best not to squeak. Thor was so warm and hard and strong against him, and Steve had been carefully educated on all the flavors of human sexuality legally available to him now and couldn't really deny it any longer. How he ended up in Thor's lap he wasn't quite sure, but shifting to straddle him was definitely Steve's idea. An idea that Thor ardently supported, murmuring into Steve's ear about the beauties of his eyes and skin and the perfection of his mouth as he pressed kisses along his jawline. Steve made a half-strangled whimpering noise he didn't recognize, and grabbed Thor by his golden hair, hauling him up for a real kiss.


	37. Language of Flowers

Natasha couldn't help but laugh at the idea of Clint escorting her home. For one thing the Black Widow needed no escort, and for another they lived on adjacent floors of the same building. Clint just grinned at her, extending the arm that wasn't holding both of their elegant little bags of party favors and standing ramrod straight as they walked out to collect the car. Natasha smiled.

"You are ridiculous, Barton."

"I do my best." He took the keys from the valet and held the door open for her, feeling under the dash for a bomb without really thinking about it and then starting the car when there wasn't one. She smiled softly, studying him as they drove, the silence comfortable.

"Nightcap?" Natasha asked when they reached her floor.

"Please." Clint followed her in and made himself comfortable as Natasha mixed them each a Sidecar in the sweet French style she favored. When she had first heard of the Japanese tea ceremony, she had felt a resonance with it, because she treated the mixing of cocktails as the art that it was. Setting a twist of lemon on the rim of each chilled glass, she set Clint's in front of him and wandered over to the flowers he had given her earlier, tenderly rearranging them. They had slept together in Budapest in sheer adrenalized desperation, and exchanged a few favors since, but these flowers were the first overture of another kind.

"I never did thank you properly for these, did I?"

Clint squirmed, hat, gloves, and cravat all on the table, top buttons undone and making him look endearingly dissipated. "I, uh. Worked on it. For a while."

"I know you did." She walked over to him, setting her glass down beside his and settling into his lap. "It's a very beautiful arrangement," she murmured, nibbling his ear and savoring the way it always made his heart speed up.

"T-tasha… I can't do this brothers in arms shit anymore." He hadn't been this afraid when he was staring down the barrel of a shotgun, out of arrows and with no backup. Well, no backup that he knew about. Natasha had only revealed herself later. She hated doing that in any capacity, but did it for Clint then because she loved him.

"I know. I love you too." She wasn't quite expecting the little cracked noise Clint made in response, or how tightly he held her. She soothed him for a long moment, pressing soft kisses to his face and nuzzling his hair, so much like the prickly coat of some animal. At last he was willing to let her go and fetch her own flower arrangement, carefully preserved with low temperatures and plant food. Clint looked a bit mystified when she came back, then stared at the bouquet as she pressed it into his hands. "Do you need any help reading it?"

"The lime blossom is for fornication," he said, grinning, "and the Japanese camellia for unpretending excellence. I nearly gave you that one because it's true, but it kinda clashed."

"Ah, yes." She settled into his lap again, smiling. "Aesthetics are so important."

"The snowdrop is for hope or consolation, and… and the forget-me-not is for undying love."

"Yes," she said softly, "it is."

"Tasha…" He couldn't seem to think of anything to say, so Natasha leaned in and put his mouth to better use. Pulling him up and leading him back to her bed was easy, and she purred as she pressed him onto his back.

"So, little bird, just how did you mean that tuft of grass?"

Clint swallowed, slithering out of everything left above the waist, exposing the muscle and scars she knew so well. It was odd how new this felt, and Clint bucked and whined at the first touch of her mouth on his chest, as wound up as she was. "Well, I wouldn't mind if you tied me up. If that's what you're asking."

She grinned down at him. "Well, it's a place to start."


	38. Aliens

Despite what a lot of people would expect, Natasha was a morning person. She liked the quiet and the newness of the day. Even this deep in the city she could feel and appreciate it, and that was something Steve understood. They had started training together in the mornings after running into each other in the communal kitchen enough times to realize that their shared silence was a friendly one. Unsure how the night had gone, Steve headed up to Natasha's floor to pick her up for their morning run. Running into Clint made him blush, but Clint just grinned from ear to ear, looking exhausted but so unbelievably happy that it made Steve's chest tight.

"Hey, Cap."

"Morning, Hawk."

He just grinned wider. "We ran into your girlfriend, you know."

"What?"

"Emma Frost asked after 'the pretty one.'" He winked, and danced off down the hall to music only he could hear. Steve grinned, and went on to find Natasha in an excellent mood and even better form. He took his ignominious losses in their daily spar with a smile, delighted for both of them and with a glow of his own from kissing Thor within an inch of his life. Having his first lunch of the day (it took three), he blushed to remember his own fumbling and eventual mild panic. Thor had been very sweet about it, which had only made it worse. It wasn't as if Steve didn't know that his teammates would all accept him for who he was. The Commandos had without a word about it, and that had been seventy years ago. It was just… new. And he had always been shy, and being out in the communal area in another man's lap (in Thor's lap, oh Actual God) whimpering and moaning had turned over from thrilling and necessary to scary and too much with alarming quickness. Thor had released him and let Steve fob him off with a kiss on the cheek and a subdued goodnight when he had been the one to jump on Thor. He felt like an idiot, and nearly choked on his eggs when Thor came stumbling in. It was usual for him to wander around in nothing but his boxers (a concession to Midgardian customs), but not for him to be awake for at least another hour.

"Good morning, Steve." His eyes were warm, and he spoke gently, radiating a desire to soothe Steve's bruised ego. Steve smiled shyly.

"Hey. You're up early."

"I thought to find you." He smiled, and started four slices of toast, looking curiously at Steve's plate. "I have heard a people called the Vietnamese do such a thing."

"Fried eggs on baguettes? I don't really know much about Orien—damn, Asian food."

"Has the language really changed so much since you were last awake?" Thor asked, pulling out two jars of something dark, marked only with runes.

"You have no idea. Colored people are people of color now, black is what Negros prefer to be called instead of a near-insult, queer has been 'reclaimed' but it means all kinds of different things now, a hooker is a sex worker and it's either a valid life choice or suicide by slavery depending on who you ask, switching has gone from a form of discipline to a form of child abuse to a damned sexual preference!" He sighed, shoulders slumping. "It's hard to catch up, sometimes." He devoured half of his sandwich in one bite, somewhat relieving his feelings.

Thor put his jars down and came over, putting his hands on Steve's shoulders. It was an easy, platonic gesture, but it made him shiver all the same. "Every day I admire your courage, Steve." He kissed the top of Steve's head and went to retrieve his toast.

Steve swallowed until he was sure his voice wouldn't crack. "What's in those, anyway?"

"Preserves." Thor blinked at him, arrested in the act of buttering. "I meant them to be shared…"

Steve snapped his fingers. "You forgot about the Allspeak, Thor. It's runes to us, and none of us read them."

Thor nodded. "And they would be different from Midgardian runes in any case." He shook his head and laughed, slathering two slices with each kind and leaving everything out like he always did, sitting down beside Steve. "When your meal is done, perhaps you could label them for me."

"Sure thing. What kind are they?"

"One is bilberry, and the other is nightcherry, which I'm starting to realize you don't have here."

"I've never heard of it, anyway."

Thor smiled, and passed him a piece of toast, the jam such a deep red it was almost black. "Try it."

Steve couldn't help a flare of caution, worried that the stuff might be lethal to humans. But it smelled wonderful and Thor looked so damned pleased that of course he took a bite. He hadn't had much variety available to him, growing up. Produce was expensive and didn't go very far, and he had done his best to make up for lost time. So he had the taste memory to compare this alien fruit to pomegranate, and was glad he did. He chewed and swallowed carefully, trying to commit the pomegranate-cloudberry-black cherry-unnamable taste of the stuff to memory. "That's amazing," was the first thing he said after what suddenly seemed too long a silence.

Thor beamed. "It's my favorite."

"I can see why. Wow."

After they had both eaten (enough to choke a pig, as usual), Steve labeled the jars and Thor gave him a hug, a kiss on the head, and some space. Steve watched him go and wondered why anybody thought Thor was just a big dumb brick. Dugan had gotten some of the same treatment, and was (had been) sharp as a tack. And then he remembered why when he almost broke his jaw on the chin-up bar because Thor was thundering into the room like an elephant and making squealing noises. Dropping to the floor, Steve had to smile in spite of his irritation. "Yes, Thor?" He had very good reason to suspect that Erik Lensherr and Charles Xavier had been photographed doing something adorable. Again. Steve did have to admit that the one of Lensherr stoically letting someone's baby pull on his ear had been pretty cute.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Steve, but I must share this, and friend Hulk is dormant."

"I know." He sighed and stretched and followed Thor out, mildly curious.


	39. Photograph

As chief security officer Emma Frost could have been working harder to keep people from immortalizing the moment, but it was Erik's own fault and worthy of photography. It was his little friend's last day in Genosha, and the two of them had been up way too late the night before, reminiscing like the sentimental old queens they are. Left to their own devices in a sunny park and with Emma standing guard, Erik had fallen asleep sitting upright against the bole of a tree, and Charles had fallen asleep with his head on Erik's chest, one hand loosely gripping his shirt. They looked as tired as they were, and utterly content to be together, bodies meshing like two halves of one thing. Even in his sleep, Erik had one arm protectively around Charles. It was adorable, and she had let a few beaming and quietly squealing girls take pictures. Serve Erik right, anyway. Feeling him start to wake up, she waved the last few away.

_Does your lordship feel refreshed?_

Burn in hell. What time is it?

Time for that dinner with the university staff.

Oh god, I'd forgotten. He gently shakes Charles awake, smiling down at him as he blinks those big blue eyes.

"Oh dear, how long have we been asleep?"

"Long enough, my friend." He stands and gives Charles a hand up, watching floating out of his pocket and opening. "Though not too long, we have time to make ourselves presentable."

"Thank god for that," Charles murmured, and glared at Emma when she couldn't suppress a ripple of amusement, because Charles's relief at not having been caught was just precious. She walked back to the compound with them and then split off to torment Azazel and Janos for a while.

Charles finished out his stay in Genosha with a scholar's dinner and a rambling, half-drunken speech that turned into a discussion, with Charles carefully tipping the podium onto its side halfway through and sitting on it before going on. Erik just laughed, helpless to do much else, and groaned every time someone took a note that would mean some kind of policy rewrite. They walked back arm in arm through the equatorial dark only to find the power out.

"Erik?"

"We're mutant-powered here. Presumably Juan has fallen asleep at the switch again." He spoke quietly in the dark as they said their farewells at Charles's door. The darkness must have made Erik feel safe, because he leaned in and kissed Charles just before he left, mind calling to Frost to wake Juan up, damn it. Charles just stood there with the pads of his fingers to his lips, feeling as if he were full of light.

The next morning Charles felt full of mild hangover, and was only able to exchange nods with Erik, his friend already awake and hard at work, looking more grim than ever. It made Charles laugh, and he took Azazel's arm with one hand and his bag with the other to reappear by the pond at home with the first stars coming out.

"You've lost a day," Azazel informed him, stretching lazily and eyeing Hank as he came up to greet them. Hank growled, but otherwise ignored him.

"How are you feeling, professor?"

He shrugged. "A touch indisposed. Glad to be home. Be a good chap and carry this, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Azazel, can we offer you anything?"

"No thank you, Raven and I are supposed to have breakfast together in a few minutes." He smiled slightly, looking to Hank. "She sends her regards." Hank nodded, and led the way up to the house as Azazel vanished.

"He's not so bad, you know."

Hank growled again and trundled on up the lawn, brightening when Alex came running down to meet them halfway. "Professor, how are you?"

"I promise Erik didn't do anything horrible to him, Alex," Hank said, and kissed him when he got close enough.

"And I can vouch for that. It was the president of the Genoshan university who gave me that sixth drink, the bastard."

"Told you he'd be partying while you worried about him," Hank added.

"Really, you should have known with a vile old reprobate like me." Charles yawned. "God help me, I'll be up all night."

In the end, after sending his nervous and ever-growing brood off to bed, Charles called Tony to tell him all about the trip and to hear all about the press coverage, with occasional squeals from Thor in the background.


	40. If They Only Knew

Phil couldn't help but laugh at what the various TV news outlets had to say about an American mutant leader being so obviously chummy with Magneto. "If they only knew," he murmured, still in the hospital but about ready to finally get out. Nick just grunted from his spot beside the bed, peeling a blood orange in one fiery strip.

"I'm sure many suspect. I mean, do they look straight to you?"

Phil grinned. "No, not at all."

"Though people can miss the obvious," Nick added, setting the peel aside and sectioning the fruit. "Orange?"

"Please." And sure he could reach it, his arms were a lot better now, but he let Nick feed him a single dark red section anyway. The flavor burst in his mouth and he couldn't help but purr. Nick chuckled and leaned in, cupping his face and kissing him deep and slow. And then he jumped to his feet with a muffled curse as Clint squawked and fell out of the vent.

"Goddammit, Barton!"

"Sorry, sir! I was just trying to sneak in after visiting hours to thank Phil for being amazing and you kinda took me by surprise. Sir."

Nick groaned, running a hand over his bald head. "Jesus, Barton. Well, since you're here anyway…"

Phil just laughed. "So, how did it go? I caught a glimpse of you on the news, but I get my painkillers about then so it's kind of fuzzy."

"It went great." Clint grinned and told him all about it, reticent only about the points a gentleman would not disclose. Such as how Natasha had tied him up and tortured him with nipple clamps until he had actually cried and how goddamn amazing that had been. Phil revealed his well-hidden drag queen side by wanting to hear all about everyone's gowns and how Natasha's had worked out. Nick just smiled, watching them and unnerving Clint with his quiet happiness. So few people really saw Nick as human,, and any embarrassment at being discovered was overtaken by amusement at Clint's attempts not to freak out. After a brief discussion of message bouquets, he skittered away through the corridors instead of the venting, and Nick sighed, taking his chair back and purring when Phil kissed him.

"Now, where were we?"

Funny as Clint's trauma was, Tony couldn't help but feel for him and ply him with healing alcohol. "So, was the cellist a beard or a fuckbuddy?"

"Fuckbuddy, I think. Or like, what they used to call a treat."

"A treat?"

"A trick you wanna keep around. I'm surprised at you, Tony."

"I love pussy so much I didn't really notice cock until I turned thirty." Tony shrugged.

Clint laughed. "It has its points, but I really do love the ladies best."

"Hey, someone on the team's gotta be straight."

"I thought Steve was."

"Wow, you really have been busy with your own shit, haven't you?"

"I know. I'm such a rotten spy."

"Oh, cheer up. You're second best secret agent in the whole wide world."

And of course after that Tony had to play him the song (singing along obnoxiously.) Clint had to admit that it was pretty great and that would accept it as part of his theme music. He then regretted that joke as Tony started making playlists for everyone to kick ass to. He escaped up to Natasha's room, and found her reading in bed. He joined her and told her all about Coulson and Fury, unsurprised when she just laughed at him, having known for years. He cuddled in against her and sighed in utter contentment when she began to read aloud. It wasn't in one of his best languages so he only understood part, but let her voice wash over him.

"Clint?" She murmured after a while, stroking his hair.

"Yes?"

"Do you think anti-Genoshan sentiment is going to jeopardize our mission?"

He laughs aloud. "They're crazy about each other. Now that they're over the worst of their pride, I think it's inevitable."

"Don't jinx us."

"Mm. Never, mistress." He felt her tense a little at that, and glanced up to realize that she was blushing. He grinned, and a second later found himself flat on his back, pinned beneath her. He made a very manly noise in his throat that was in no way a high-pitched, thready little whimper. She grinned down at him. "Still, I do feel that this one of the better contingencies."

"I'll say," Clint murmured, and then moaned aloud when she slapped him across the face for insubordination.


	41. Tyrant

After that first successful visit, their work was essentially done. Charles and Erik seemed to collapse back together in profound relief. The next time Tony visited his cousin, he stared at the years that had fallen away from the lines of his face and the set of his shoulders. His eyes sparkled and he looked better than he had in… ever. When Tony commented on it he just laughed, even when Tony had taken care to be as obnoxious about it as possible.

"All right, what gives? Has Mags come around at last?"

"That needs a definition before I can answer," he said, eyes sparkling over the rim of his teacup.

"Okay, fine, if you've regained the ability to be arch, I'm gonna say it's going well."

A world away, Erik was fielding similar questions from Raven, who was in regular contact with her brother again after far too long, and feeling all the better for it.

"You know he still loves you."

"Raven, now is not the time."

"He always loves you, no matter what time it is."

"Raven!"

"Your tie is crooked, anyway."

"There was a reason I took up the damned scarlet and helm, so I'd never have to deal with one of these fucking things again."

"You love it and you know it. Hold still."

He sighed, and let her adjust his tie. "I used to, before I became a bitter old man with a country of my own."

She kissed his cheek, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "You were always bitter, Erik."

He laughed at that, hugging her before breaking away to take Azazel's arm. He hated these meetings and being summoned like a performing animal, but with Charles dinning in his ears about isolationism and other social evils, he had no real choice but to go to them. And stringently not think about Charles, because doing so made him feel dangerously fluttery. Which was the last thing he needed while staring down a room full of withered old human men and providing them with piece after piece of crucial information. He knew it looked bad, but he couldn't help fighting these revelations every step of the way. It went against the grain to reveal things to the enemy, and they were the enemy, whatever Charles said.

"Ready, your majesty?"

Erik just rolled his eyes and took Azazel's arm. They popped out of being and back in again at their destination, and Erik did his best not to grimace, sweeping to his assigned seat and looking very steely, every inch the tyrant. Genosha was slowly gaining greater status, more of a sovereign nation and less one crackpot's project (though how that was fair when Kim Jong Il still had his own nation, Erik could not conceive), but he could still feel suspicion and derision from every corner of the room. He didn't have Charles's gift of being at ease, and could only respond by growing colder and more remote. There were no plastic shoes or collars here at least, and Erik's powers reached out, feeling pacemakers and fillings and telling him the extent of his own mercy.

For you, Charles, he thought, and stared them all down. He had been surprised to find that he actually had the right kind of mind to engage with this kind of thing, however little he enjoyed it. He assumed they were going to argue about air rights as they had been, but as the last of them filed in, a definite grimness crept into the atmosphere. Erik wasn't just imagining it, and Azazel's tail flicked nervously.

The accusations flew thick and fast, even with protocol straining to keep things civilized. Erik couldn't help a wide-eyed stare at being accused of having Genosha crushed in an iron fist of slavery, ignorance, and dictatorship. Apparently his island wasn't taking in enough imports to possibly feed itself, and his utter silence to the outside world save for the occasional speech was taken as proof that his people were too broken and ragged and starved to show.

"Am I late?" It was a strong voice that boomed over the babel with no apparent effort. Everyone turned to look, a common effect of Thor's presence.

"You are," the harassed moderator told him, and looked more wretched than ever at the sight of Tony Stark sauntering along behind Thor and settling down into a seat beside him.

"Then I regret my accidental disrespect of this council, but must demand my place as a representative of Asgard and an ally of Genosha."

Erik kept his jaw from dropping, but only with concerted effort.


	42. Sovereignty

Thor introduced himself more fully (for the benefit of those living under rocks) and then gestured to Tony, adding that he had brought Mr. Stark along as a technological advisor.

"Meaning that he can't work our charmingly primitive gear," Tony added, bringing up a myriad of projected screens with a wave of his hand. "And someone has to."

"If this assemblage had known where to find it, it would have seen a great deal of conditions in Genosha," Thor added. "A tyrant restricts his people's access to information. Erik Lensherr does not."

There was a general rustling and snorting of disbelief, and Tony just grinned. "These, ladies and gentleman, are the images Magneto doesn't want you to see." The screens flared to life, and Erik buried his face in his hands, bitterly regretting making wireless internet available on the island.

The state-sanctioned images of Magneto were all either at a podium or using his powers to terrifying effect. Genosha's citizens had no such scruples, however, and had captured their leader in a wide variety of other poses. He had become aware of his fangirls fairly early on, and knew that among shots of him building houses and cradling babies and assisting doctors (too revealing already) were even more candid shots. He risked a glance up to see if Stark had at least pixelated his cock in the one of him standing naked and irate on a beach and was glad to see that he had, even if he had left uncensored the hand gesture Erik had been waving at the photographer. There was nothing to be done about the shot of him and Charles asleep under a tree, and he kept his head down until those had been buried in pictures of daily life on the island. The terraced fields and their breathtakingly efficient use of space, a backyard barbeque of ocean fish, a clinic full of fat, happy brown babies waiting for wellness checks and someone's little girls garlanded with jungle flowers and playing catch with little balls of fire. It was an avalanche of images, and Tony started grouping them together for corroboration, overlaying different angles of the same things by countless different people.

"Yes, that nice, shiny building with the good-quality secondhand things is actually the school," Tony told the assembly, indicating correspondences with a laser pointer. "Hey, Mags!"

"…Yes?" His tone dropped the temperature of the room by about twenty degrees for everyone but Tony, who just beamed at him.

"When's your birthday? I'm giving those kids a lab."

The moderator did his harried best to squash Tony, who just smiled benignly and was quiet, letting the pandemonium roll on without him.

When all was finally said and done and Genosha a real country at last, Erik caught up with Thor, pausing for a baffled moment of not being certain how to address him. "Thunderer?" He said at last, and Thor turned to him with a broad grin.

"Magneto!" He clasped both Erik's forearms in his gigantic hands. "I am happy beyond words for your victory!"

"Which wouldn't have happened without you, Prince of Asgard." Erik clasped back, and then extricated himself to grab a drink before picking at Thor for the rest of the evening, trying to figure out what interest Asgard had in Genosha as Stark got affably drunk and flirted with everyone, including the seventy-one-year-old delegate from Latveria.

Erik always fled receptions as soon as he could, and was creeping out to his rendezvous with Azazel when Thor caught his arm. "A word, before you depart."

"And that word is?"

"Whatever happens this time, don't run from it."

"That's like, eight words, Blondie. Or like, eight point five. What do contractions count as?"

"Do not mock me, Tony! This is important!"

"Oh, for totes. You're not stringing my cousin along, are you? 'Cause I've got a carbon nanotube prototype suit with your fuckin' name on it if you are."

"Why in the world everyone seems to care about my private life I cannot begin to guess—"

"Whatever! You're powerful and inspiring and hot, of course the kids want pictures of your dick. And I want to see Charles actually fucking happy, you douche."

"My shield-brother is rude, but honest, Erik Lensherr." Thor patted Erik's shoulder. "Rule wisely and well, and do so with Charles Xavier by your side."


	43. Connection

Thor woke late the next day, and had purred and stretched and rolled over and was grinning from ear to ear before he even remembered what he was so happy about. The moment he did, he bounced up and activated the archaic scrying device in his room, pleased to see all electronic Midgard ringing with the news of Genosha's ascendance to sovereign nation. That done, he galloped to the kitchen, forgetting all about pants until Steve came in and choked on his own saliva, eyes huge. Deeply concerned, Thor snatched Clint's 'Kiss the Cook's Ass' apron from its hook and put it on, going to Steve's side to pound him on the back until he stopped coughing.

"Phew," Steve said as soon as he had the breath, "that was a blast from the past." He wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned shyly, so adorable that Thor had to kiss his cheek. Steve blushed badly, but didn't panic, even as Thor's arms wrapped around him.

"I regret my lapse in courtesy, Steve. Are you all right?"

"Aces," Steve said, risking a glance down and blushing worse than ever. "Uh, Thor?"

"Yes?"

"C-can we go somewhere quieter?"

It took the Allspeak a moment to parse Steve's true meaning of 'somewhere more private,' but when it did, Thor grinned.

"Of course, Captain," he purred, taking Steve's arm and leading him up to his room. Steve blushed, eyes cast down. He stuck close to Thor, squeaking and turn bright red when Thor finally gave in to temptation and scooped him up into his arms. Steve whimpered and hid his face in Thor's shoulder, trembling. Thor chuckled and rubbed his back. "There's no shame in enjoying this, little one." He actually felt Steve's cock twitch at the address, and purred, shifting his grip on Steve to open the door. He could feel some of the tension leaving Steve's body as it as it shut behind them, and he nuzzled Steve's hair, holding him even closer.

"I should have thought about your need for privacy before now, dearheart. I'm sorry."

"I-it's okay," Steve whispered, looking up with wide eyes.

"I won't push you." Thor kissed him softly. "Just let me touch you."

Steve whined, and tore off his t-shirt, flinging it aside, flushed down to his chest. Thor purred, kissing him there and loving the shy little moan he responded with. "So pretty, little one." He set Steve on the bed and untied the apron, pulling it over his head and flinging it after Steve's shirt. Steve looked up at him with big, awestruck eyes, and Thor beamed back. "You know I'm a truthful man, Steve. But we should get those jeans off before you hurt yourself." He crawled over Steve and soon had him gloriously naked and writhing at every touch. It took a while to erode his resistance and to make him let out all those sweet little noises he couldn't seem to help making, but Thor had time.

Miles away in Westchester, Charles's students were lurking outside his study door, Scott pressing a waterglass to the door to hear better as the others crowded closer.

"Is he having phone sex in German?" Jubilation whispered.

"God, I hope not," Alex muttered.

"I think maybe it's Yiddish?" Scott whispered, "I can't really hear."

"That might be all to the good," his brother told him and took the glass, listening. "Well, 'bablit' is 'beloved', I think…"

"Excuse me, Erik," Charles said, and they all scattered as his footsteps approached the door, regrouping elsewhere to whisper and speculate, because Charles had been creepily happy lately, and it didn't seem to be slowing down at all.

"Look," Jubiliation said at last, "I think one of us is gonna have to start digging."

"Yeah, 'cause you're so subtle, Jubilee."

"Did I say me? I vote for Scott, because he never gets in trouble."

"She's got you there, bro."

"Why not Jean? She can at least block him!"

"Why not both of us together?" Jean said, and Scott did his best not to blush or squeak.

"O-okay."

And thus began Operation: Find Out What Professor X Is Up To, all unaware of the significantly more professional inquiries being conducted by Black Widow and Hawkeye.


	44. Love Letter

"Now this looks promising," Natasha murmured, clicking through the subject lines of emails from magnuslensherr.gen.gov to cxavier.gmail.com as she lounged on Clint, using him for a couch. "They're mostly talking policy, but they're also sharing pictures and in-jokes and all kinds of other friendly things."

"Just friendly?" Clint purred, nuzzling her neck.

"In email. I think this calls for more letter reading, don't you?"

"Mmm. Perhaps."

In the end they did go, more out of prurient curiosity than anything else. Erik and Charles had apparently dispensed with the dried flowers, in favor of a much franker correspondence, and Natasha actually blushed at the contents of one missive she had steamed open.

"…I'm almost afraid I'll combust if you read it to me."

"You very well might."

Later that day, long after Natasha resealed the letter and eased it back into the box, Scott was keeping watch for Jean, who was doing her best to scan the Professor from a distance without him knowing. It was tricky work, but she was strong and (more importantly) subtle enough to do it. Especially when he was distracted and locked in his study, reading a letter from Magneto.

Jean and Scott were encamped on the landing of the back staircase, which nobody used unless they were coming back late from Harry's Hideaway. Jean's brow furrowed in concentration and deepening confusion as the Professor read his letter.

"What is it, Jean?"

"It's a love letter for sure."

"It is?"

"…A dirty love letter. Hang on, I just—Ew!" It was high and sharp, blowing their cover.

"Jean!" Scott snapped, and she cringed.

"Sorry!"

They bolted, and didn't stop until they had reached one of the outbuildings. "So what was it?" Scott asked, panting. Jean grimaced, hesitated, then leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"Ew!" Jean's proximity was the single most amazing thing in the known universe, but the information she relayed made him honestly queasy. "People _do_ that?"

"I think so, because his long term memory centers lit up, so it's actually happened before." She actually looked faintly green, and Scott didn't suppose he was much better.

"Gross!" He cried, wrinkling his nose.

Jean pulled a face like she had swallowed a lemon. "I know."

_To my dearest Charles,_

_I write to tell you about my dreams. I find that I have a few moments here in my office, and I might as well use them in the way that makes me happy. I suppose my therapist would approve, at least conceptually, but I'm addressing you, of course. After all, it's your eyes in my dreams. All of them are a mix of things that really happened and things I want. Hardly a horror to be found, Charles, and in my Dreaming. Have you been tampering with me, my only one? Reaching out across the sea to pour yourself into my skull and stop my wounds?_

_I don't even know if I could be angry with you if you did. What have you done to me, Charles? I've been asking you that since the night we met, and you've never really had an answer for me. I think I'll tell you about last night's dream first. It had a certain immediacy that made it particularly memorable._

_It started in the strip club where we met Angel. You know, I think that may have been where I went mad, from wanting you. What do you think, Charles? Have I been a sane man since? Angel didn't put in an appearance. It was some other girl, the way it is in dreams, and she left much more quickly. I poured champagne and ice on your clothes as an excuse to take them off. You let me, but you knew what I was doing. You always know, and it's not the telepathy. As soon as I had you down to that rose petal and milk skin, I pushed one half-melted cube inside you just to watch you shiver. Your nipples really are the most perfect petal-pink, my English rose. In the dream I spent what felt like a thousand years just kissing them, and when I looked up, your hands were bound over your head. Just the way you like it, figure-eight with a silk scarf. It was a deep purple, and set off your eyes. The room matched by then, having changed from the one in the club the way things do in dreams._

_My suit was still on, and rustle of leaves and the hooting of those little red-gold monkeys and the screaming of birds started to filter in from the real world, along with the scent of the sea and those big, blue-black flowers that close at dawn. I wanted to stay with you, and I did a moment or forever longer, it's hard to say now. I kissed you and then moved down, getting your legs over my shoulders. I gave you a bite on one thigh because I couldn't resist, but that was all the teasing I bothered with. How long has it been since the last time I had my tongue in your ass, Charles? I remember what it was, me on my knees and you cursing into the wall, but the date escapes me. You tasted just the same last night, though, and made the sweetest little mewling noise when I held you open to get even deeper. Remember the first time, when I told you there was no part of you I wouldn't put my mouth on? It's true, and I woke up with my face buried so deep in the pillow I almost smothered myself._

_Pleasant dreams,  
E.M.L._


	45. Awkward

Scott was really glad that Jean was a telepath, and could forcibly remove the images from their heads. Over the next few weeks there were a lot of letters, and Jean limited herself to tiny surface scans to confirm the fact that yes, these new ones were dirty as well. In both directions. There were more visits to Genosha, and Azazel became a familiar presence, making hot chocolate at four a.m. and taking afternoon naps on the loveseat. The Professor was going around with suspicious marks on his neck and a happy, dazed look in his eyes, but they still weren't expecting what happened next. No one was, and that was why the entire east wing came running when he screamed in the deadest hours of the night. It was a loud sound, high and ragged and mindless. Darwin and Alex kicked the door open, Darwin a mass of spikes and Alex holding a charge in his hands and looking for something to unleash it on as Hank loomed behind them, eyes gleaming in dim light.

"Damn it, Charles!" And holy shit, that was Magneto. Naked Magneto leaping off of naked Professor X to hide behind the bed. The professor blushed all over, and threw the blankets over himself.

"Are you all right?" Alex growled, still vibrating with energy even as Darwin pulled in his spikes.

"Fine, thank you," he squeaked, flush deepening by the moment.

"Damn you, get out!" Magneto yelled, muffled and partially under the bed by the sound of it.

"Like hell, you asshole!" Alex yelled back, and stormed around the bed even as Charles groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"Boys, please don't fight."

Alex stopped to glare at him. "And just what the hell are you doing anyway?"

"Kissing and making up," Charles snaps, "what does it look like?"

"Yeah, but Charles—"

"Alex, I've always made my own decisions, and I don't intend to stop now."

And that was that. It wasn't often that Professor Xavier just told them how it was going to be. He was usually more graceful, either letting them do as they liked or at least pretend that it been their own idea. This time he just wrapped himself up in a sheet toga and made everyone leave with sheer force of personality, no telepathy required. Alex grumbled and snarled the whole way, tense and trembling in Hank's furry arms as Darwin murmured soothingly to him.

"You think it'll be all right?" Scott asked Jean at last.

"I don't know. I'm kinda scared to check."

"Just scan him a little?"

She sighed. "Okay, just a little. Hang on." She closed her eyes for a moment, focused. Scott waited and watched for a long moment. Jean's face suddenly turned red with embarrassment, and she opened wide green eyes. "They're fine. And I guess people actually _do_ do that."

Charles spent the next day apologizing to his students at the times and places and in the ways they favored. Alex was well aware of his nefarious program, but luckily for them both of his lovers were the kind of vile traitors who would tell his mentor where he was hiding.

"Alex? Alex, help me up," Charles called, hauling himself into the tree Alex had adopted for brooding in. There was a wave of irritation, a deep sigh, and then those strong arms were reaching down to catch Charles's hands and haul him up. "Thank you," he said as he settled himself onto a branch.

"I don't care that you're fucking like a howler monkey, Charles. I care that it's Erik."

Charles sighed. "You two are actually a lot alike."

"Except for the part where he paralyzes you and fucks off for years."

"You think we haven't talked about that?"

Alex groaned and thumped his head against the trunk. "I just don't get it. I'm not gonna try to break you guys up as long as he's good to you, though. Thank Darwin."

"I will."

"He says I should make allowances for the fucked up freakshow in Erik's head."

"As you should, Alex."

"At least he didn't do it on purprose," Alex growled, sounding unconvinced.

"Yes."

Alex snickered. "And is apparently a good lay."

"Alex!"


	46. Happily Ever After

Despite its awkward beginning, Erik's attempts to reconcile with his former students went fairly well, all told. Alex punched him and Hank mauled him a bit and then cried and helped him bandage up the one bite that actually needed it, but after that it was mostly talking. Erik had gotten marginally better at verbalizing feelings in the intervening time, and soon enough was a common sight on campus, just as Charles was becoming one in Genosha.

Even as they got used to Magneto arriving to pick up their professor, the students were still protective enough to crowd onto the stair landings and lurk whenever it happened, keeping an eye on him. They waited up for him when it just dinner, and called him every day on his trips to Genosha. It was as exasperating as it was endearing, and he told Tony so when he called him one balmy night. He was sitting on the balcony outside of Erik's rooms and watching the tree Clint had laired in swaying in the wind.

"Thank you, by the way," he said, apropos of nothing.

"For what?" Tony asked, clearly distracted by whatever he had on the drawing board.

"All the espionage on our behalf."

"Well, y'know. They said they didn't even have to do much."

Charles laughed. "Most people would at least try to deny it, Tony."

"Eh, why bother? You can read my fuckin' mind. And it worked, anyhow."

Charles could only laugh harder, because it was true. Erik got back from his meeting at last, warm, metallic presence caressing Charles's mind just by existing, and he shivered. "You, Anthony Stark, are a horrible man and we will discuss your many crimes at some later time."

"Give Mags my fully-clothed love," Tony trilled, and hung up. Charles was still laughing when Erik stepped out onto the balcony and pulled him into his arms.

A year later, Raven wore clothes to the wedding. It was the least she could do for Charles, after all. It was funny how disused to the things she had gotten, but the diaphanous midnight blue nearly matched her skin and felt like the memory of fabric rather than the fact. And apparently stunned Azazel, which was a definite plus. Somehow Erik had bullied him into wearing something besides a chauffer's uniform, even if it was still unrelieved black. He grinned at Raven, and offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

She took it, smiling. "Of course."

They met Emma and Angel on their way down the main stairs, Emma in her immaculate white ("the bride isn't wearing it, after all") and Angel in red. When they kissed at the bottom of the stairs it was like blood on snow.

"Such a picture they make," Azazel purred, and Raven smiled.

"They do."

"As will that one all on her own in a few years' time." He nodded toward one of Charles's students, a sweet-faced girl in emerald green that made her bright hair and pale skin glow. Raven smiled

"Jean? I'm just glad she's got telekinesis to go with the telepathy. She's able to keep Charles company and to beat boys back when they get fresh."

"Looks like she won't have to use it on this one." Azazel murmurs, watching as Scott offers Jean his arm like a real gentleman.

"Scott's so well-behaved it's almost a sickness."

"I have no idea where he gets it, either," Alex said, coming up beside them, hands in his pockets ruining the lines of his suit. The sunny grin on his face suited him, and Raven had no choice but to return it.

"Where's your other two-thirds?"

"Around."

Erik had of course codified marriage equality into Genoshan law from the very beginning, and Charles had agreed to be married out of the compound, which had been covered in tropical flowers, all the windows and doors open to the warm breeze. It was a simple program, friends and loved ones mingling and getting the drinking started while Charles and Erik put themselves together.

Darwin turned out to be talking to Coulson and Fury, and Hank knuckled over to join them, clothes tailored for his simian form. Darwin grinned at him, scratching him behind one ear in greeting. "Have you gentlemen met Hank?"

"Not just yet," Fury said with a faint smile. "Though I have been following your work, Dr. McCoy."

Clint and Natasha were, as usual, somewhere they weren't supposed to be. Bored with socially acceptable milling and having caught up with all friends present, it was time to explore. They were expecting to find nothing of interest and merely needle Erik over having been there without his knowledge, when they heard the man himself, muffled and panicked. They didn't even need to make eye contact, bodies moving as one as they pulled their fiberglass blades and forced the door.

"I can't do this!" Erik sobbed, pressing a cushion over his face like he wanted to smother himself. He was ridiculous, fully dressed for his own wedding and sprawled across the couch. Dr. Singh did her best not to smile, and was about to offer him some advice when the door opened and Erik shot upright and then relaxed. "Oh, it's you."

"Sorry, it's hard to tell cold feet from an abduction over a certain distance." Natasha tucked her knife away again, and Clint did the same. Erik laughed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I appreciate the sentiment. Have you checked on my bride?"

Clint smirked. "He says you're the bride."

"Of course he does."

Dr. Singh finally did laugh at this, and told Erik that he should get moving if he really was feeling better, because the time was close.

"To hell with all public ceremonies," Erik grumbled, and levered himself to his feet.

Charles fretted with his tie one last time, and Tony groaned. "Charles, trust me. You look fucking amazing, the coolant patch is going to keep working, and you will not fuck this up."

"Thank you, Tony." He sighed, and stood back from the mirror. "Bruce?"

Bruce looked up from the couch, where he had spent the last fifteen minutes or so quietly reading. "You do look fucking amazing."

Charles laughed, and headed down to meet Erik.

Steve and Thor both cried during the ceremony. Steve was overwhelmed to be at an actual, legal wedding for two men, and Thor cried at every wedding he attended, whether it for his OTP or not. He kept Midgardian mores in mind, however, and cried quietly, with an arm around Steve. It was a quick ceremony, because there was only so much public display of feeling that Erik could bear at one time. He looked fragile as Charles spoke his vows, like he was expecting to be struck by lightning or a heart attack before he could get through this. They exchanged plain bands and escaped back down the center aisle at the end, leaving Tony Stark to do what he did best, and get the party started.

The Xavier-Lensherr wedding reception went down in island history, which was very useful for the many people who couldn't remember it. Erik and Coulson swapped favorite improvised weapons and mutant-generated fireworks went off all over Genosha as Thor taught Steve to dance.


End file.
